Old Sea Chest
by Umeko
Summary: A collection of drabbles on the series and its characters. Multi-genre
1. Hesitation

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

I am pooling my responses to the challenges on the Black Pearl Forum into one fic. Prompt – hesitation

**Hesitation **

He felt silly standing in the street outside the grand house, with a bouquet of wild hibiscus and passionflowers in hand. "_Gurv'nors' daughters dinae care for penniless 'prentices_," his master had chided him when he caught on to why young Will Turner was always so eager to be calling at Governor Swann's mansion. Those words still haunted him. Heart pounding in chest, the youth reached for the doorbell before letting his hand drop to his side.

Mister Jeeves the butler would probably direct him to the kitchen door where the servants and tradespeople called. Elizabeth rode her pony over to the forge to have Will shoe her steed once in a while. She would chat with him as he worked. Somehow he had fallen in love. _Will, you romantic fool…_

Feeling awkward but reluctant to leave just yet, Will Turner strolled over to the side of the house where the Swanns' parlour window looked out onto the gardens. Perhaps Elizabeth would be reading in the parlour, like he had seen her do on occasion. He froze when a familiar voice came to his ears.

"James, how sweet… They are lovely. Thank you…"

The dogs had been in the flowerbed below the window, leaving behind gaping holes and trampled flowers. Standing on tiptoe in a not-so-manicured flowerbed, Will peered within. A smartly-dressed young man in a naval uniform stood with his back to Will. A smiling Elizabeth held a bouquet of red roses and snowy lilies as her father watched on benignly. Governor Swann beckoned for the navy man to follow him to the study off the parlour for a drink. Meanwhile, his daughter set about putting the flowers in a vase. James' flowers were pretty enough for the parlour's table. Suddenly, Elizabeth looked up and saw him.

"Will?" She walked over to the window.

Unable to speak from the sudden tightness in his throat, Will faltered.

"Stop 'ere, ye rascal! What hav ye dun to me flowers!" the Swanns' gardener came running with rake a-waving. Will decided retreat was the better part of valour in that second. He thrust the hibiscus and passionflowers through the window into Elizabeth's arms and fled with the burly gardener in hot pursuit.

Elizabeth looked at the hibiscus and passionflowers in her arms and the roses and lilies in their vase. She smiled quietly and took in the exotic scent of adventure from the blooms she held. She would put Will's flowers upstairs beside her bed in a lovely jug. Perhaps they would bring her dreams of adventure and romance, and of a certain young blacksmith's apprentice. _Thank you, Will._

**Author's Notes:**

In case you are wondering, Will and Lizzie are in their early to mid-teens in this fic. Well before their meeting Jack and company.


	2. Cat

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Prompt – Cat. This one is for that long-haired, plume-tailed, one-eyed cat with the 'HI, I'M TOM' name-tag who prowls the neighbourhood yowling at night. Old Pirate

**Cat**

On hindsight, it would have been perfectly honourable if he had gone down with the _Dauntless_. The sea has claimed more than her fair share of the Norrington clan. What's one more? No, he had to survive and face the disgrace of having lost his ship in a hurricane while in reckless pursuit of one scrawny pirate. It was his bad judgement that sent his ship and his men to a watery end. Honour demanded he resign his post. _Why the hell did he keep his uniform on, tattered as it was?_ Somehow, he had wound up on the doorstep of his Uncle Tom like a washed-up stray cat.

Young James, whose father was often at sea, was left in the care of his Uncle Tom, the family's black sheep. Uncle Tom's naval career ended on a spectacularly scandalous note when he wounded his commanding officer in a duel over a barmaid's affections. Dishonourably discharged, he took to privateering and retired from the sea proper when he lost a leg to a cannonball. Fortunately, Grandmother Lily had invested wisely in the sugar trade so Uncle Tom was able to provide a relatively comfortable home for his ward. James' father tolerated Uncle Tom's drunken brawls over wenches, duels to the death and other follies. The final straw came when Uncle Tom attended Sunday Mass drunk and tossed the vicar into the harbour. Within the week, Captain Norrington packed his son off to England to prepare for a naval career. No other Norrington was going the same way as Uncle Tom.

The last time James dropped in to visit the old man, he was greeted warmly by Uncle Tom and the merry-faced Negress he had taken as his wife. There was a little black girl with her hair tied in braids playing tug-of-war with a long-haired cat at Uncle Tom's feet. _What was her name?_ James could not recall. _Was it Anna or Maria?_ Uncle Tom was older, with more white hairs but his devil-may-care nature had not changed one whit. The girl stopped her games long enough to fix a withering glare upon their visitor, resenting his intrusion into her cosy home. The cat, sensing its mistress' displeasure, hissed at James.

Schooling and his naval career kept him away long enough for Uncle Tom to finally settle down and start a family of his own. There was no need for a nephew to act as an adoptive son. For the first time, James felt out-of-place in his Uncle Tom's house.

"Jamie lad, you're like a son to me. If you ever need to, you know where to look," Uncle Tom had wheezed as he puffed contently on his pipe. His daughter left the room at the sound of her mother calling from the kitchen. The cat walked up to the old man and rubbed its cheek against his peg-leg. The cat had an ugly scar across its face, blinding it in one eye.

"That's a nasty-looking scar," James remarked. Uncle Tom laughed and scratched the cat under the chin. "Buccaneer is a tough cat. He can take whatever life tosses at him. My ladies adore the critter, the old pirate." The cat's owner looked like a pirate himself, James thought. Both cat and girl watched him as he bid his uncle goodbye, their eyes telling him he was not welcome there.

That had been a good five years back and he hadn't visited since. James sucked in a deep breath, dusted off his grimy jacket the best he could and rapped on the door. Silence greeted him. He tried again to no avail.

"Looking for old One-Leg Tom, mister?" a boy poked his head out of the neighbouring house at the commotion.

"Yes, when will he be back?" James asked.

"Never, mister. The fever took both him and his missus, not long after his girl took off with a pirate. House been empty since."

Stunned by the dismal news, James wandered into a tavern and emerged with a much lighter purse and a bottle of rum. He sat down at the foot of a wall and continued his drinking binge. Uncle Tom, his last surviving family, was dead. He was literally alone, having lost his father at sea soon after arriving in England. He might have a cousin somewhere but she was a near stranger to him. James was a man set adrift with no oar or sail. The navy, his engagement to Elizabeth, even his Uncle Tom… all gone. For once, James Norrington was without any bearings. _Where could he go? _

Should he swallow his pride and beg some merchant captain for a place on his crew? Should he go back to the tavern and spend his last coins on more rum? He was getting hungry, having gone without food for nearly two days. Should he seek employment with the warehouses? A port-clerk was a respectable profession. Yet he would ache for the sea. The sea ran in his veins, so Uncle Tom always claimed when young James insisted on going to the docks to see the ships and dream of sailing to faraway lands. For a moment he smiled at the memory.

Something slimy plopped onto his head from above. It slid into his lap. James yelled out in shock and disgust when he saw what it was- a disembowelled rat. He leapt to his feet and brushed it off his lap. He caught sight of the culprit perched on the wall behind him. _Buccaneer._ James could recognize that ugly feline anywhere. The cat had gone feral after Uncle Tom's demise. His once glossy coat was matted with mud but the single yellow eye still glared disdainfully at James. A plumed tail lifted as if in a mock salute. Yawning lazily, the cat continued along the wall.

James wiped off the rat-gore the best he could. Come hell or high water, he was going to survive, catch that damned pirate, retrieve his honour and avenge the deaths of his ship and men. Casting the empty bottle from him, James headed for the docks.

**Author's Notes:**

And it is official, James Norrington has hit rock bottom. A small peek into the Norrington clan and that black sheep that lurks about in every family fold.

You know you have pissed off a cat when it stuffs a dying, disembowelled rat in your shoe and a dead, rotting bird in the other.


	3. Cold

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Prompt – Cold. As in Barbossa's last word in CotBP

**Cold**

He was cold. _So this was what death felt like_, he mused. _Numbness. Impending nothingness._ The pain of his wounds had been long dulled by the intense cold. Feathery flakes danced down from a frozen grey sky. _A mistake, to come so far from his crewmates and ship._ His captain had warned him but the poor man and the others were probably dead now, thanks to the man he had foolishly challenged. Hector was not going to walk off this island in the manner of a victorious warrior. At least _he_ would not be stepping off this godforsaken gravel bank either. He had expected to kill Hector Barbossa and leave him for the ravens. Hector was a stronger fighter than he expected, or perhaps a tad more favoured by the fickle Lady Luck. The ravens were set for a feast. In a distance, a bell tolled. There was a monastery Hector recalled passing earlier, on their way to the island for their duel.

"_Hear it not… for it's a knell; that summons thee to Heaven or to Hell…_ but not fer ye, young un, not yet."

A sun-browned, wrinkly face framed by wispy white hair was looking down on him. Near toothless gums grinned at him. The neck of a bottle was forced between his bloodied lips. Brandy dribbled down his throat like liquid fire. He coughed and gagged. His saviour forced him to sit up and stuffed a large sausage into his frozen hands. It was then that he realized who his benefactor was – Loony Drake Morgan. The pirates always whispered that the Keeper of the Code was touched in the head. Been barmy since the scoundrel Leif Janssen, Pirate Lord of the Baltic, tossed him and his crew to the hospitality of the Turks. The wily old man escaped but bereft of his crew and wits. _Poor sod took to wandering the desolate shores calling for his long dead shipmates, _so they said.

A few yards from Barbossa lay the frozen and very dead corpse of Janssen. The patch of red on his shirt-front spoke of Hector's luck more than skill with a sword. A raven pecked at the wound as its companions gathered to feed.

"Eat up, sonny, ye need to build up the blood. Blood sausage. Drink yer wine red and take yer meat raw…" Loony Drake crowed like a barnyard cock. He tore chunks off the sausage and poked them into Barbossa's mouth. Barbossa almost choked on the metallic taste of iron and rancid fat. He still felt faint from the blood he had lost. He forced himself to chew and swallow the sausage chunks under the madman's watchful eye.

"Thank ye, young un. Fer ridding us of this worthless rat… Captain? Pirate captain? Where's yer crew? Long way from the open sea 'ere," Loony Drake chuckled and started clawing at the slushy snow with his bare hands before finding Hector's discarded sword and returning it to the wounded pirate.

"D-dead. Me captain's dead. Ship captured…" Hector forced the words out. The snow he was lying in had a reddish cast to it. His shoulder now burned, as did his thigh, chest and hip. The scabbing wounds had started to tear and ooze blood again. Janssen had been playing with him like a cat with a mouse, trying to wear him down and taunting him with the deaths of his shipmates. If he had been less of a sadist and gone for a clean kill, Hector Barbossa would be no doubt comparing notes in the afterlife with his shipmates instead of whiling the time with a lunatic Code-Keeper.

"Never do, Pirate Lord should be a captain," Drake shook his head and waggled his finger. "Git yerself a pirate ship and crew proper! But never mind. Code says ye earned it. Fair's fair. One-on-one duel. Not Pirate Lord already, are ye? No?" His mad grin grew wider when the younger pirate shook his head. "Good, need nine lords for the pieces of eight. No more; no less."

"_What Leif Janssen lost, thou hath won…_" the old man scrambled over to the corpse on hands and knees like a monstrous spider, sending the cawing ravens aloft. Hector felt his gorge rise as the Keeper plunged his knotty fingers into Janssen's eye socket. There was a sickening sound as something was pulled loose.

"Oops, wrong one…" the Keeper tossed the squashed eyeball to a raven, who greedily snapped it up like a favourite titbit. He poked his fingers into the other eye socket.

"Catch, laddie!" the old man crowed.

Hector caught the object Loony Drake tossed at him. To his surprise the eyeball felt hard, as if frozen… A shudder ran through him. He glanced down at the object he now held cupped in his hands. It was a wooden orb, the size of an eye.

"Piece of eight, laddie. How does Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea sound to ya? _To be or not to be…_ Git in 'ere boat, ah row ye to shore," the jubilant Keeper slapped him on the back, sending a wave of agony through his body. Hector would later learn that the gravel bank they were on was in the Caspian Sea. Thus the young pirate Hector Barbossa became the only Pirate Lord in Brethren history of a landlocked sea.

* * *

><p>Cold. He was cold as death again. Killed by a bullet courtesy of Jack Sparrow… At least Sparrow was a Pirate Lord himself so there was no dishonour in his defeat. <em>Would he be reunited with his sweet Rosaline and their girls?<em> There was a soft tinkling sound at the edge of his consciousness. Was it a bell? _Would he be summoned to Heaven or Hell?_

His eyelids fluttered open as the smell of brimstone and pounded spices assaulted his senses. It was warm and humid, not cold. A dark face was looking into his, black lips pulled back in a devilish grin. A tropical breeze stirred the strings of tiny seashells hanging from the rafters, sending them twinkling like wind-chimes.

"Welcome back to da livin', Hector…" Tia Dalma greeted the revived Pirate Lord.

**Author's Notes:**

Loony Drake Morgan is an OC, possibly the Code Keeper before Teague. Thanks to the Bard's Macbeth and Hamlet for providing me with some of the quotes for Loony Drake.


	4. Joy

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Prompt – Joy. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all

**Joy**

The Yuletide Ball was already in full swing when he finally emerged from his office. Green and red ribbons decked the halls. Candles blazed bright. The band was playing. It was many years since he had last danced. Age-stiffened joints did not allow him to spin or step as lightly as he once did with his late wife. It was traditional that the governor's manor hosted the ball. The merchants, naval officers and local plantation owners would be there. The ball was always a highlight of Port Royal high society. It was a chance for the young ones to mingle under their elders' watchful eyes. Already the young couples were casting shy glances at each other. Young men approached the knots of giggling girls and asked them for the next dance.

Weatherby Swann watched from the landing as their guests whirled and spun with the music. One couple in particular had his attention. The girl was like a rose in the full bloom of youth. The young man stood handsome and dashing in his naval uniform. He had dispensed with his powdered wig and the candlelight shone on his brown hair. Taking his partner by the hand, he cautiously led her through their dance. It was as if he sensed the bubble-like fragility of this moment of bliss. The candlelight glowed on the tawny hair of the fair maiden with her rosy cheeks and rosebud lips. She was so young, almost too young, the watcher thought. The young maiden had chosen a blazing red gown which glowed like a flame among the pale shades worn by the other girls.

They looked so happy, flushed with happiness as they whirled about, their feet nimbly moving in time with the melody. Their happiness was the watcher's too. A careless misstep, or was it by design? She stumbled, and her partner caught her deftly with his arm round her narrow waist. She laughed. Some words were exchanged in good jest and she pulled away from him. The melody was ending. The dancers bowed or curtsied as they returned to their places.

The maiden glanced up at the landing and caught the governor's eye. She smiled, looking every bit as her mother did at her age, his dearest wife who had died bringing their little angel into this world. It had been so many years since he lost her. Time had long tempered the pain since. Surely even she must be smiling down upon them now.

The young captain bowed slightly, placing a chaste kiss upon the back of her hand. She accepted it with as much grace as a proper lady should. However, the veneer of propriety passed when a mischievous smile came to her face. She hitched up her skirts, exposing her petticoats and a glimpse of her ankles. She ran like an over-eager child to the foot of the stairs, just as he reached the last step. Weatherby silently admitted that he had spoiled her most dreadfully. No society matron would tolerate such behaviour from her charge. Young ladies simply did not run, but he could not fault her.

"Father, so glad you could join us…" his dear child kissed him on the cheek. _His life's joy, his Elizabeth._

**Author's Notes:**

Nothing much, just a short drabble on a happy moment.


	5. Rooster

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Prompt – Rooster

**Rooster**

"_Let's shoot the rooster, rooster red…"_

Captain Jack Sparrow deftly stepped aside to accommodate a gaggle of barefoot children as they skipped around in their game. There was no sense taking out his bad mood on the innocent beggars. If there was any man who should feel his wrath, it was his employer, Mister Beckett. The young man was certain he had stated his terms clear enough before he entered his contract with Mister Beckett. _Captain Jack does not do slave runs._ What couldn't the man understand? It was not just the matter of gold, but his principles.

Captain Jack Sparrow was not going to allow the _Wicked Wench_ to be reduced to a floating prison with a hundred or more unfortunates cramped between her decks. He scrunched the letters he had received in his fist. Beckett was not in. How convenient. The fuming captain kicked Beckett's front door in impotent rage. No doubt Beckett was strutting about Main Street with his newest mistress like some barnyard cockerel. Beckett had the tailor measuring him for new clothes the last time Jack called. Right now, Jack felt like yanking the tail feathers off that pompous rooster.

Captain Teague would have shot him on sight, Jack grinned wryly at the thought of his father. However, things were done differently in the honest, non-piratical occupation he had chosen against his father's wishes. _"Let me git this straight. Ya have the freedom to go pillagin' as a pirate and ya wanna go work for the bloody East India Company?"_ his da had boxed his ears then.

"No one tells me what to do…" Jack had growled when he learnt of his latest cargo. "I'm not going to carry slaves!"

"Strongly advise against that, Jack. Fact is, Capt'n, Mister Beckett and the East India Company owns the _Wicked Wench_. They'll just replace you with some other chap and we kinda like havin' yer as capt'n," his first mate, a level-headed Scotsman, had advised. "Tell yer what. Yer jus' pretend we're deliverin' timber or some other cargo and we will take care of the rest…"

_Right, like he could ignore the unspeakable suffering going on below his decks. _If he did that, his soul would be forever tainted. The sea would lose the promise of freedom she always offered him.

Jack froze in mid-step. _Cutler Beckett._ His employer was indeed strutting down the street in a newly-tailored coat with a simpering young woman hanging onto his arm. He chattered inanely on the wealth he would be making from the slave trade. So engrossed was he with his companion's charms that he failed to notice Jack. Jack Sparrow fingered the pistol in his belt. It would only take him a heartbeat or two to put a pistol ball through the man's heart.

"_Let's shoot the rooster, rooster red. So that he will no longer go cock-a-doodle-doo!" _

Beckett yelled and waved his walking stick at the children. The children's games came to an abrupt end as they fled squealing. It was clear they did not fear the man. Jack let his hand drop away from his pistol and watched as both Beckett and his simpering companion entered the house.

Jack Sparrow took a deep breath to steady himself and reaching into his pocket, pulled out the letters authorising the collection of cargo. Yes, he would pick up those slaves but he was not going to deliver them into slavery. How would they like a free life on somewhere out of the East India Company's reach? There were, after all, more than one way to roast a rooster, as his dear old granny would say. Captain Jack Sparrow was definitely going to set fire to Beckett's tail feathers.

**Author's Notes:**

Jack Sparrow during his honest phase, before getting his brand. Sounds almost decent, apart from the almost gunning down Beckett in the street part.

_Let's Shoot the Rooster_ is a children's song I heard somewhere. Might be French, Czech or Russian in origin.


	6. Black

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Prompt – Black

**Black**

Black. He liked the colour once. Many fond memories. Black like his father's braided beard was before age tinted it with silver. A pillar of strength, no matter how rough the storm, a safe haven until he was old enough to strike out on his own. Black as the coat of the faithful old dog he had as his first true friend. Black like the flowing tresses of the smiling senorita he met in a convent. She stole his heart with her laughing eyes and a kiss before he even knew it. Black was also the colour of his pride and joy, the _Black Pearl_.

Practical colour for a pirate, too. Black kohl helped keep the glare from hurting his eyes so he had learnt, never mind if the land-lubbers laughed at his back. Black was also the backdrop of the pirate's Jolly Roger, the flag all his outlawed kind sail under. The colour reminded him of the sheer exhilaration of being alive and free on the waves.

Black was also the colour of the damned spot he was forced to accept twice. Once on a scrap of paper from Hector's hand as the dirty mutineer grinned. The next time was from a former shipmate, a cursed mark upon his flesh. Now he was staring into it and he did not like it one bit. Blackness was all he could see down the beast's gullet as it devoured him alive.

End of the journey for Jack Sparrow, pirate captain. Maybe black wasn't that great a colour after all.

**Author's Notes:**

Just a short drabble on the colour black.


	7. Propitious

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Prompt – Propitious

**Propitious**

"Propitious, innit?" Captain Jack Sparrow whistled as he tested the wind with a bit of straw. The wind looked set to continue well into the next day. They could make the journey in less than five days. Then he frowned as a dark shadow on the horizon caught his attention.

"Uh-uh… that doesn't look propitious. One might even say it is inpropitious… Or issit unpropitious?" the captain toyed with a beaded dreadlock. The head of clouds smacked of the beginnings of a squall and it was heading their way. Jack weighed his options.

"Captain? Would we be leaving Tortuga on the next tide? Or this week even?"

Jack Sparrow frowned at the edge in his chief mate's voice. They had already wasted a week in Tortuga, not that he minded. The company in the _Faithful Bride_ was to die for and…

His purse was empty, as were those of his crew. They had sobered up after the partying and were chaffing to be on the waves looting. Sober, Tortuga was just another hot, humid tropical island with a ramshackle port and smoky tavern. No wonder Hector was also chaffing.

If it were his father in command, what would he have done? Would he have pointed out the foul weather brewing and held off sailing? Or would he have risked the squall overtaking them? Teague ran a strict ship and his word was law. Jack Sparrow was too young and too raw as a captain to have that respect from his crew. Mutiny was common in the pirating life. He who is captain one day might find himself shark-bait the next. So far Lady Luck has beamed on the young pirate. Jack Sparrow sucked in a breath.

"Gentlemen! We set sail within the hour. With a most propitious wind blowing we shall reach Kingston in four days!" Jack smiled as the crew broke into applause and cheers at the captain's words. The die was cast. The anchor was hoisted and the sails unfurled. Their minds filled with visions of the promising wenches and gold-laden galleons for the taking, no one noticed the ominous shadow in the distance. Jack Sparrow glanced warily at the ever-growing storm clouds on the horizon and wondered how long his luck would hold out.

**Author's Notes: **

This was a hard one to write.


	8. Halloween Challenge 2012

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Prompt – Halloween special.

**Halloween Challenge 2012**

Little William Turner always wondered about the old tales of walking pirate skeletons the grown-ups told about the fire in his mother's inn. Or the tales of mermaids, fish-men and zombies that old soldier from Fort Charles often told. Momma would simply shrug and tell him not to worry about the pirate skeletons. They would not plague Port Royal anymore, she said. Momma's brave. Everyone knew that. His da would take care of those nasty fish-men. Uncle Jack would sort out those zombies if they came, he promised before he left. Everyone knew mermaids were okay if you keep out of their Whitecap Bay.

All Souls' Eve. Tonight there was a stranger- a small dark woman dressed in ragged clothes that smelt of the sea. Momma was polite to her, even if she looked like a wild creature to young William. Her lips were as black as jet and her feet were brown and bare. "Look much like yer da…" she grinned at him when he walked by her. "Some day come to sea like 'im…" Momma smiled and told the stranger how young William liked to watch the sailing ships in the harbour.

"They all ready. Come wi us, Madam…" the stranger beckoned to Momma. Momma told him to go to bed for it was late. Together with Aunt Ana, she left with the stranger. Like all curious little boys, William had to follow them in secret. Lanterns in hand, Momma and Aunt Ana followed the stranger through the deserted town, along the trails through the thick brush and out where the surf crashed into the sand.

Uncle Jack, Uncle Hector and Old Mister Gibbs were there waiting in the moonlight_. _On hands and knees, William crawled closer to the edge of the bushes for a closer look.

_Saints in Heaven! Was that a coffin on the sand? Were they burying someone in secret?_

"Tis a pity Captain Turner can't free those old Jonesy cast in his Locker… save us the trouble otherwise…" Uncle Hector spat. In the moonlight, the chattering monkey on his shoulder looked like a rotting skeleton.

"Lass, we've brought his carcass like you asked but only you can call him back… the question is will he thank you fer it?" Uncle Jack sounded strange. He was not drunk or joking. Not one bit.

"He gave his life to save me, Jack," Momma said fiercely.

"Stubborn ain't ye, luv? Our Pirate King…" Uncle Jack grinned, his teeth shining in the dark from the lantern's glow. All this while the strange woman and Aunt Ana drew strange figures in the sand and scattered shards of bones and shells around the coffin.

"Officially, lass, he is dead to the navy and his folks. He's been in the Locker too long, longer than Jack here 'cuz we couldn't git to him sooner. Most like he'd remember little of his life…" Uncle Hector said. The monkey hopped off his shoulder and scratched his hairy rump.

"Perhaps we'd get a shambling idiot with fewer wits in his skull than one of Blackbeard's zombies…" Uncle Jack added with a yawn.

"Now time. Call him…" the strange woman hissed. Uncle Jack and Mister Gibbs lifted the lid off the coffin at her signal. Someone was inside. Momma started forward and knelt by the coffin. Everyone else backed away except for the woman, who sat cross-legged and chanting in a strange language.

"James, wake up…" Momma said quietly. The chanting rose in tempo. William shivered as a low moan came from the thing inside the coffin.

"Get up, James… please…" This time a pale bony hand flopped out of the box like a dying fish. The boy bit on his lip to keep from screaming.

"James, get up! I want you to get up! You needn't die in the first place, you fool!" Momma sounded angry. The thing heard her and sat up. Its face was as pale as a sheet and his eyes hollowed. His clothes were ragged and bloodied. That did it for poor little William. He screamed. Uncle Jack swore and the monkey screeched. The strange woman broke off mid-chant and came bounding over.

"Sum t'ings not fer little boys ta see…" a dark face was peering into his. The woman brushed her hand lightly over young William's eyes and the boy fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p>There was someone new in town, an English seaman who went by the name Jamie Norris. He worked the rum-running smack with Aunt Ana. Like Uncle Jack and old Gibbs he avoided the navy-men like the plague. He spoke like a proper gentleman unlike Uncle Jack. Awfully polite to Momma and the ladies too. Mister Norris taught the small boys on the dock to tie knots like sailors do. He was a jolly soul and well-liked by the tavern regulars whenever he visited. Yet young William could not understand why whenever he looked at Mister Norris, he would be reminded of a moonlit night, a dark grinning face… and that open coffin on the beach…<p>

**Author's Notes: **

A creepy mystery from a little boy's eyes. I wonder if we will be seeing James Norrington again in PotC 5. A resurrected James Norrington as rumrunner Jamie Norris? Perhaps…


	9. Tradition

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Prompt – Tradition

**Tradition**

Every single Norrington boy since the time of Great-great-grandfather James Francis Norrington has served in England's navy as soon as he reached the age of eleven. Then it was on to rank and honour, do or die. There was the unfortunate incident of Uncle Tom's wrecked naval career, but let's leave that there. James was eleven going on twelve, old enough to be a midshipman. He knew he was no longer a child. Midshipmen don't go crying about having to leave their favourite uncle in Jamaica and the only real home they had ever known. His father would be so disappointed in him if he did.

He mustn't refer to his father as 'Father' but salute and call him 'Sir' like the other officers and crewmen. It was hard but the Admiral was clear on that. His son was to be treated as any other midshipman would on board his ship. Not that it mattered too much to young James. He hardly saw his own father as a boy. The admiral was often away at sea. It was always Uncle Tom who was there to soothe him when the nightmares came at night. It was also Uncle Tom who taught him how to tie knots, fish and skip pebbles across the water.

_Tradition is always important,_ the young gentleman mused. _To the grown-ups, at least._ He had learned to listen to the bosun's pipe and the bell. When to rise. When to bed. When to eat or take his lessons with the other midshipmen under the schoolmaster's watchful eye. Never mind if he were so dog-tired his body wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep. The admiral would be disembarking at the next port and young James would continue alone on the _HMS Sparrowhawk_.

**Author's Notes: **

A little insight into James' childhood.


	10. Together

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Prompt – Together

**Together**

_Hoist the colours high._ The song has already been sung. The Fourth Brethren Court is called. The Pirate Lords turned their helms for the graveyard of ships- Shipwreck Cove. Time to stand together, or swing from the end of a length of rope courtesy of some snotty lordship. _Yo-ho, haul together, hoist the colours high._

The Keeper of the Pirate Code scratched his beard and regarded the assembly before him. He motioned for a nearby pirate wench to give him a tankard of rum and she gladly obliged. The Cove was bone-chilling cold on the best of days and he needed the rum to ease the ache in his old bones.

Nine Pirate Lords, nine pieces of eight. Not everyone would be here though. Hector Barbossa was dead, slain by Captain Jack Sparrow. His Jackie boy was also dead, dragged down to the Locker by Davy Jones' Kraken. _Had they passed their pieces on to a successor? Had there been time before they perished? _There were whispers that Hector still lived. But those were only rumours. Teague silently toasted his departed son with his tankard. Jackie boy most likely died clutching his piece, he always was a stubborn one.

Captaine Chevalle was playing at cards with Senor Villanueva and most likely cheating at it. It would be a matter of time before he is found out and the Spaniard tried to run him through. Never mind if Eduardo was also cheating himself. Gentleman Jocard and Mistress Ching were sidling off behind a crude sailcloth curtain. Teague decided he didn't really want to know what the couple was up to going off alone, so long as the Gentleman did not spear Mistress Ching and the old widow did not poison him. Ammand the Corsair was arguing with Sri Sumbhajee… Oh, they were throwing punches both fast and hard and their men were leaping into the fray.

No sign of Sao Feng yet. _Now was that good or bad?_ Sao Feng was a treacherous viper by nature, liable to side with the Company if it meant a profit and saving his own neck.

Chevalle's cheating had been uncovered and he was being throttled by an angry Villanueva. The Frenchman's crew rushed to defend him only to be met by their Spanish counterparts. Another two crews were fighting now. A resounding slap sounded over the clamour. Emerging from behind the curtain, Mistress Ching shrieked for her guards. Clutching a gash in his side, the Gentleman yelled for his men. Immediately, the last of the pirate crews launched into a free-for-all.

_Typical._ Teague had learnt long ago it was impossible for any two Pirate Lords and their crews to be within a ship's length of each other without copious bloodshed. Oh, they would listen to him if he spoke, but he was sick of reining them in and mediating their quarrels. All he wanted was some quiet time to be spent with his guitar, his dog and of course, his dear wife.

If it weren't for the direness of the situation, he would not even be here. Captain Teague strummed his guitar, trying to ignore the petty quarrelling, near-murders and brawling all around him. _Haul together, hoist the colours high… _The song's words echoed in his ear. With a weary sigh, he reached for his pistol and fired a single shot for attention.

**Author's Notes: **

A look into Captain Teague's take on the Brethren court dynamics.


	11. Bluster

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Prompt – Bluster

Calypso miscalculates. Davy Jones-Calypso centric.

**Bluster**

Of course she never really meant to be there. She was too capricious to be faithful, even to him. Ten years was a long time for a mortal but a mere blink of an eye to a goddess. She could hear him blustering over the storm, a forlorn figure on the battered sand bank.

"Calypso! Where are ye? Come to me! Liar! What about our promise? Have ye forgotten so soon?"

_Should she go? _

No, that would be spoiling her fun if she were to meet him. Better to watch him bluster from behind the waves and rain. It was rare to see Davy in such a fine temper. What had she seen in him? He was too staid surely. She was all passion, desire and whimsy. She had many lovers over time- adventurers, explorers but never one like him. Now it tickled her fancy to let him wait another decade.

"You wretch! Where're you? CALYPSO! Have ye found another lover?"

His screams and curses grew more frantic and angered as the sunrise neared. Soon, his time on land would come to a close. He'd be forced back on the Flying Dutchman, to continue serving her by harvesting the souls of those lost at sea.

"Calypso! I swear I'm not forgiving ye for this!" A shaft of sun sliced through the storm clouds. Davy Jones hastened back to his vessel. Calypso giggled, careful to stay hidden in the sea fog.

No matter how much a mariner cursed and raged at the sea, they'd still love her. And her Davy was a mariner through and through. Perhaps he had forgiven her as soon as he set foot aboard his vessel. It's in mortals' nature to bluster against nature, that she knew well. Perhaps later tonight, or next week, or next month, she'd visit him on the Dutchman. Perhaps.

**Author's Notes:**

Poor Davy Jones gets stood up by Calypso. We all know that rage wasn't just bluster.


	12. Article

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Prompt – Article

Some bureaucracy in the Cove?

**Article**

The candles flickered at the intrusion of a gust of wind into the sanctum. The breeze barely ruffled the pages of the open book before him. He lifted his eyes and faced those in the face looking expectantly at him. Captain Teague cleared his throat and recited the words on the page.

"Captain – Article 24A of the Pirate Code clearly states that to be a captain you have to be nominated and voted to the role by your pirate crew…"

"I was voted captain of the Black Pearl by my crew, da…"

"I'm not done yet, Jackie boy…" an ink-stained finger steadily moved across the page. "Article 24B states that captain retain command until voted out by his crew or black-spotted…"

"But I am still a captain, captain of the Wicked Wench…"

"Does not count. Article 102, Section 5 on Ship Naming states that a ship once re-named is still the same ship. The Wicked Wench or Black Pearl is now under the captaincy of Captain Hector Barbossa. And justifiably so under Article 76 – Aftermath of Mutiny Captaincy Voting."

"She can have 2 captains…" he was clutching at the straws now.

"No," Teague chuckled, licked his thumb and flipped through the pages. "One ship, one captain. Either ye get your ship back in your command or recognise Barbossa as captain, which everyone else has done. Oh, and stop calling yerself Captain."

They have been over this for ages and he was weary of the argument. The Code Keeper yanked out his pistol and shot into the ceiling, sending woodchips raining down on his son. "Article 250 and a half – this discussion is over as I, the Code Keeper, sez so! End of discussion," he slammed the book shut in a cloud of dust.

"There is no Article 250 and a half, da… you're pulling me leg!" he shook his head so hard that the beads in his braids tinkled like tiny bells.

"So Jackie boy, cheer up. I do have a vacancy on me crew. Think ye be up to the job of cabin boy, juz like the old days?" Teague grinned.

"Methinks I'd pass, da."

**Author's Notes: **

Trying to write a bit of father-son humour into the Captain Teague and son interactions. Probably highly anachronistic.


	13. Hazard

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Prompt – Hazard.

**Hazard**

There are some hazards which could be easily avoided and others unavoidable. Unfortunately for Captain Teague, Jackie boy had a knack for sniffing out hazards in the most unexpected places. Who knew a tot learning to walk could fall headlong into a rum barrel which stood twice his height? Or that a three-year-old could load a blunderbuss and come within inches of blowing out his own brains? The blast took off most of Gunner O'Malley's right ear. Often only the timely intervention of the crew or unbelievable good luck preserved Jackie boy's life. More often than not, he was a hazard to the rest of the crew. There was the time he dropped a hatch cover on poor Tom's skull while chasing a cat and the time Granny Grace's hammock was set aflame because Jackie thought his granny was feeling cold.

One might argue a pirate ship was no place for Teague's youngster, but Jackie boy did not fare any better at Shipwreck Cove or whichever pirate island the crew saw fit to leave him. They still had the hole in the wall of Mother Carey's from the incident with the runaway cannon when Jackie was nine. Sao Feng had deemed Jack Sparrow enemy for life after an unfortunate accident in Singapore when Jackie boy celebrated his birthday there. Teague did not see how a mix of Jack Sparrow, free-flow rum and fireworks was ever a good idea in the first place. Jack Sparrow attracted trouble like a stray mutt attracted fleas.

If the little ingrate had taken his old da's advice and stuck to pirating, he would never have crossed that snotty slave-trader. If it weren't for that, he would not have ended up making a bargain with Davy Jones, whom most seafarers would rather avoid than do business with. There was also his sojourn on a cannibal-infested island. Perhaps it was simply in Jack's nature to take most outrageous risks without any thought.

Thus it was no surprise when he spied Jack Sparrow fleeing through the London streets with soldiers in hot pursuit. With a weary sigh, he quaffed his drink and slammed his coin on the counter. Be it three or thirty, Jackie's still his son and it looked like the boy's gotten in over his head, _again._ Time for his old da to haul him out.

**Author's Notes:**

A bit rusty as I have not written for this fandom for a while. Hope I have caught the father-son dynamics.


	14. Ship in a Bottle

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

This is a reply to a suggested collaborative challenge which never really came to pass.

**Ship in a Bottle**

_The very last one,_ Captain Jack mused. Mister Gibbs did not have time for niceties when he cleared out Blackbeard's cupboard. There were a good two dozen in all. Ships trapped in their glass prisons, their crew stuck in a hellish limbo. Of course, the first one they freed was his precious _Black Pearl._ Then came the tricky question of what to do with the others. There were a few merchant ships which promised a grand prize, if not in ships, in cargo. The master of the _Lily_ thanked his rescuers with a chest of gold coins in exchange for his safe passage to Aruba, although he was already a full year late. There was a merry young widow, a passenger on the _Rosita_, whose company Jack rather enjoyed until they parted ways at Gibraltar.

The _Albatross_ was a lost cause, a floating wreck, none of her crew having survived their battle with Blackbeard. Gave the crew quite a turn seeing the corpses where they had fallen, as fresh as the day they had perished. That one was for Captain Turner and they left the sad vessel adrift. Jack did not expect to run into Captain Ralph O'Shea on board the prize ship _Valiant_, his boyhood friend from Aruba. The pirate was still as gnarly as ever and a trifle sore Hector had beaten him to settling scores with Blackbeard.

Several of the ships were clearly naval with guns still a-blazing in their bottles. No one was keen on a sea-battle. Still, Captain Jack refused to let them languish in their bottles. The crew of the_ Pearl_ held a vote and reached a decision. They left the naval ships in their bottles on the doorstep of Fort Charles, together with a note on how to carry out the ritual, should their navy fellows be so inclined.

_The very last one…_ Jack peered through the dark amber glass. _Was it empty? Had Gibbs knocked a plain old bottle into the sack with the trapped ships? _There was a shadow of something moving inside. He struggled to recall if he had seen the dark brown bottle along with the other ships in that cupboard Angelica had shown him. Then he only had eyes for his own ship. There was only one way to find out.

Like always they found a quiet cove. No sense having someone stumble onto them and risk disrupting the ritual. Like always came the strange fog which slowly cleared. The crew waited expectantly, with a hint of nervousness. The vessel in the dark bottle could be a naval frigate or a merchant prize.

Jack laughed. It was a small storm-battered fishing vessel, a prize which should have been well below Blackbeard's sights, but one can never account for the dead man's whims. The grin grew wider when he spotted a familiar figure glowering on its deck.

"Jack Sparrow! What the blazes took you so long?" Anamaria screeched and shook her fist at him. Jack only shrugged at her ingratitude and ordered the jollyboat to be lowered.

**Author's Notes:**

Where did Anamaria disappear to after the events of CotBP? Here is an alternative explanation.


	15. Tea

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Prompt – Tea

Jack Sparrow and Cutler Beckett sitting down to tea.

**Tea**

Silver, fine porcelain trimmed with gold. The young man had never seen such an opulent spread. He blinked and fidgeted with his cutlery, much to Beckett's amusement. This was no cordial invitation. It was a show to impress the man many claimed was the finest young man ever to tread the decks of a ship. One who could read the tension of each rope and sway of the deck, each wave and cloud as if he were born and raised at sea, that was Jack Sparrow. When both the captain and first mate of the _Good Hope_ were washed over the side in a storm, it was Jack Sparrow who had leapt in to nurse the crippled vessel to safety. He did the journey in two less days than anyone in the company's history. To Beckett, he would be an invaluable asset in the East India Trading Company.

"Tea?" Beckett motioned to the black girl to attend to his guest. "Thank you, ma'am," Sparrow thanked the girl when she filled his tea cup. "Sugar?" Beckett smiled. Sparrow scowled, took a cube from the sugar bowl with his grubby fingers and dropped it into his tea with audible plop. He stared at the silver teaspoon for a moment before dipping it into the liquid and stirring it noisily. He slurped the tea and spluttered on it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Sparrow, do help yourself to a pastry. It is lovely weather we have been having recently…" Beckett drawled.

"Let's just quit beatin' 'bout the bush. Ye didn't invite me over for my conversation…" Jack Sparrow scowled and grabbed a sweet bun from the platter, tearing chunks out of the pastry with his teeth with the manners of a mangy mutt.

"Very well, I am offering you employment with us…"

"I'm already working for Misters Quaker and Miller. I'm happy on the _Good Hope,_ Mister Beckett…" Jack yawned with disinterest.

"Only as a first mate, Mister Sparrow. We are offering you command of a ship, as her captain…" Beckett winced at the sight of a glob of bun landing on the lace tablecloth.

"Captain?" Now he had the man's attention.

"Full command of the _Wicked Wench _with a generous commission on each shipment delivered. Do we have a deal then, Mister Sparrow?"

"Perhaps… Deal!" Sparrow extended his sticky hand to Beckett. "Oh, and one more thing- Jack Sparrow does not do slave runs, savvy? Goes against me convictions."

"Deal." Beckett reluctantly took Sparrow's hand and shook it. The man was an uncouth creature, barely fit for polite company. Beckett promised himself that this would be the last time he invited Sparrow to tea.

Jack wiped his hand on the back of his breeches the moment he stepped out of the house. _Lord, the man was a slimy git like they warned him._ But it would be something to be a captain at his age. At twenty, many ship owners did not think him experienced enough to be captain despite his reputation as a seaman. Jack fished out his rum flask from his coat pocket and took a generous gulp, swirling the sweet liquor in his mouth to remove the foul taste of Beckett's tea from it.

**Author's Notes:**

Guess that tea didn't go down too well with either of them.


	16. Key

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Prompt – Key

A short drabble on Davy Jones-Calypso angst.

**Key**

He knew what was wrong when the first bars of the melody wailed forth from the pipe organ. Seawater and salt air had done it again. Cussing under his breath, he pounded the keys the best he could with what he was cursed with for hands and his tentacles. The only reward for his efforts was more tortured howls from the instrument.

The beleaguered musician turned away in disgust. Why did it matter to him if he mangled the tune? Why did he still hold that particular melody dear to him despite having cut out his heart and locked it away?

Dark soulful eyes laughing, the taste of sea breeze on her lips, nut-brown arms lithely draped about his neck those long-ago nights when the sea was at peace, crooning softly in tune as his fingers coaxed music from those same keys. A bare foot, soft and warm, coquettishly sought out his even as he sought out the pedal. A toe caressed the exposed skin where his boots left off and his trouser leg began.

It was a wonder he had composed anything with her around.

No, he did not care one whit, for her nor the melody.

The Bosun was shouting. A ship spotted on the horizon, another prey for the _Flying Dutchman_. The Captain wondered if there would be an organ tuner on board.

**Author's Notes: **

I have limited understanding of traditional pipe organs in general but I understand that they easily go out of tune and require serious maintenance and regular tuning by a professional.


	17. Storm

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Prompt – Storm

**Storm**

There is little more terrifying, _or exhilarating_, than a storm at sea. Salt spray whipping one's skin, the wind howling like a pack of wild beasts with lightning and thunder all round… The shouts and calls of the sailors as they scurried agilely on the heaving deck, the entire ship bucking like a wild horse underneath him. There is always the risk, of course. A wave might pluck him clean off the deck or lightning blast one of the masts… It is not unheard of for a ship to be swamped by the sheer volume of the waves and sink, her bilge-pumps overwhelmed by the onslaught.

Hence most sea captains would rather remain in harbour and add days to their journey to avoid a storm. He was no fool. Sometimes when one catches your ship, you just had to ride her out. And one might as well as enjoy the ride. Gripping onto the spokes of the wheel, he braced himself as another wave crashed over the deck, soaking him to the skin.

A feminine giggle like a pealing bell reached his ears over the shouts of his men and the storm. Blinking seawater from his eyes, he thought he spied a woman perched on the bulwark. It struck him as odd as they had no female passengers on board. Her black hair was a wild mane and her smile bespoke mischief. He recalled outlandish tales of mermaids luring seafarers to their doom and shuddered.

No, this wild-haired nymph had legs as she strolled over to him, as steady as if she were walking on firm ground - such slender brown legs which showed where her skirts were slit high. She was dusky like the women of the Indies and her eyes luminous dark pools. Above all, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in all his travels.

Distracted, he did not hear the warning shout of the mate or the splintering crack of the mainmast. He stood stock-still as sails and rigging came crashing down around him. A broken spar landed a glancing blow on the side of his skull, enough to stun him momentarily and slice open his cheek. Yet he had remained on his feet.

She embraced him then, amidst the chaos. She kissed him on his bleeding cheek and the wound healed. Without really understanding why, he kissed her back on those luscious lips which tasted of salt and sand. She was the sea and he knew it. _All raw power, passion and beauty… _The storm was blowing herself out now, her terrible fury spent.

"_Calypso…"_ she breathed her name into his ear before pulling away from him. Then like a mist, she was gone, but he knew deep in his heart, they would meet again.

**Author's Notes:**

Davy Jones and Calypso's first meeting? I like writing a flirty Calypso.

I know the mermaids have no legs part of the mythos is not true in the PotC universe as shown in PotC4 but this is just our sailor.


	18. Kidnap

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Prompt – Kidnap.

Jack has always considered himself a pirate and scoundrel, but kidnapping a girl from a convent?

**Kidnap**

The good sisters were so predictable, which was good by Jack Sparrow. A half-past nine, the abbess made her nightly rounds. Ten o'clock, the cute little blond novice sneaked out for her weekly tryst. Eleven o'clock, the old crone who guarded the gate finally dozed off. Now all within the convent were asleep. Now's time for Captain Jack to make his move. It started as a dare between two pirate lords- Eduardo and Jack. Both had been enjoying a sojourn on land when a certain raven-haired senorita caught both their eyes. A lovely piece she was, with her pixie face framed by those midnight tresses. Oh, how she smiled at them across the church and made their hearts flutter. The two pirates dared each other to steal her away to sea.

Alas, she dwelt with her fellow sisters, within the old convent which was once a fortress. Eduardo declined. He would seek out another fair senorita to seduce. Perhaps being a Catholic himself, stealing away a bride of Christ did not appeal to him. _Bad luck,_ he believed. Jack could not put away that flirtatious smile, those soft white hands and laughing eyes. The young novice had winked at him as they passed. No, she was wasted within the convent's stone walls. He had to steal her away.

For two weeks he watched, long after Eduardo had sailed off. He waited and watched until even Mister Gibbs got worried and came looking for him. All this while, Jack attended the services at the church so to see the pretty little novice in the choir. The sermons did not hold him as much as the smile of his fair senorita. Finally, the time was right for his scheme to steal his senorita from the convent walls. The tide would be high and the wind fair. Good old Gibbs waited for him on the docks with a stolen dory.

On cat-soft feet, Jack tiptoed past the drooling old crone after picking the lock on the gate. He crept like a thief through the shadowed halls The cell he sought was the last one on the second floor of the east wing.. A lamp was burning in the cell. _Could she be…_ His heart thumped as the door swung open without a creak.

"What took you so long, senor?" a melodiously soft giggle and soft lips on his. In an instant Jack knew he was lost, his heart stolen by the girl he had come to steal.

**Author's Notes:**

A quick Angelica-Jack drabble. Not so much a kidnap than an elopement.


	19. Ten

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

**Ten **

Deep in the shadows of the bayou, a dark woman grins and croons her siren song. Her long wait is now nearing an end, a binding spell soon to be broken. Freedom to command the waves, the wind and storms, she can taste it, almost. The shells have spoken. Now she has to see them safely through. Nine pieces of eight, nine pirate lords must assemble in the Cove, a Convening of the Brethren Court. For now the ancient Code-keeper sits alone, mourning his late wife. He sits strumming his guitar with only an equally ancient mutt for a companion. She can see him in her mind's eye. _Pity._ He was young and handsome once. But he is a mortal and must go the way of all mortals. Even the legendary Henry Morgan and Francis Drake have all gone that way.

She returns her mind to the task at hand. She reaches into the juju bag and picks out the items within. Eons past she had woven a spell of protection for a long-dead mariner. Now she will weave the spell again.

_One,_ a withered stick. It sprouts green as she places it upon the altar. One who has been brought back from beyond the Styx. A roguish pirate with a gentleman's tastes and manners. Now he slumbers close at hand. A welcome guest thus far in her life but she will have to send dear Hector on his way soon.

_Two,_ a Spanish doubloon. It shines bloody red in the firelight. She remembers him as a little boy at his father's knee. In youth, he was a rebel straining at the leash. Caused his poor old da much grief he did. Witty Jack is always one to court trouble. Perhaps he is in danger again. Never mind. She will see him safely there. The dark woman chants a hymn of protection as she places it next to the now greening stick.

_Three,_ a silver button. A privateer for the French crown gone rogue. She closes her eyes and sees him playing cards with his sister in a salon in Marseilles like a gentleman of leisure, and losing at it. An expected betrayal by an old friend. Soldiers burst through the door but the wily fox is nowhere in sight, only a bewildered widow and her cat. Chevalle has made his getaway once again.

_Four,_ an iron ring rusted blood-red. Gentleman Jocard, once Gumbo the slave-boy, has come a long way to win his freedom. A canny one, he looks up from the cowrie shells he had been stringing for his young one. Perhaps he senses the change in the rising wind. He hugs his little girl and sends her off to her waiting ma. Lifting his horn to his lips, he blows and summons his men.

_Five,_ a blue stone with its painted eye. A good luck charm offered by Ammand the Corsair the last time he came by. A handsome Turk, she grins at the memory. He was always one for the ladies, with his dark soulful eyes and winsome smile. Somewhere Ammand kisses his sweetheart and promises her the moon and stars. The dark woman wonders how many stars remain in the skies to be promised to the Turk's lady-loves.

_Six,_ a chipped knife blade, still wickedly sharp. Adventure first lured young Eduardo Villeneuva from his father's inn. He has sailed the ocean waves ever since. She sees him at the helm, his ship storm-lashed and battered. He is a skilled helmsman who will pull his men through this adventure. Perhaps tomorrow they will pillage a Spanish galleon or an English merchantman.

_Seven,_ a polished turban shell. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Sri Sumbhajee yawns and stretches. Age has not been kind to him. He grunts and scratches his belly before ringing for his trusted manservant to bring his hookah and slippers. He strokes his whiskers thoughtfully as he watches his men at work unloading the hold of their pillaged goods. His still-nimble mind calculates their worth and what they can be traded for.

_Eight,_ a porcelain shard with blue markings. Matriarch of a pirate clan, mother and grandmother several times over. Mistress Ching nods her approval at her grandson's swordplay under the instruction of his father. She slaps another grandchild lightly on the arm for a fumbling in his practice, followed by a gentle but firm correction. The boys return to their practice. The grandmother plods over to the side of the junk and gazes out over her anchored armada with a sense of pride.

_Nine,_ a grey pearl. She frowns as she places it onto the altar. Sao Feng is a scoundrel through and through, a dangerous serpent not to be trusted. One must be hard to survive the mean streets of Singapore. She spits at the ground. No, he will never see the Cove. Instead she sees a woman, fearless as the legendary Grace O'Malley. She hails from half a world away. A stalwart heart and a faithful one. Yes, she would like to meet this feisty girl before the Brethren Court convened.

The bag is light now and almost empty. She dips her hand in one last time to be sure.

_Ten._ She draws from the depths a single albatross feather. He leaps into her mind's eye then- An honest youth, newly proven himself a man. The sea flows strong in the young man's blood. A new era is dawning. She cannot tell yet what role he will play in the scheme of things. She places a chaste kiss on the feather and blesses the young man before putting it next to the pearl.

The ritual is almost done. She chants the last lines of the spell before sweeping all ten trinkets back into the juju bag. She hears the swamp birds calling and the frogs croaking. Visitors were coming. She waits patiently.

**Author's Notes:**

A tricky prompt indeed.

Pirate history fans would probably know who Henry Morgan, Francis Drake and Grace O'Malley are.


	20. Instinct

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

A short drabble.

**Instinct**

Shining, tempting, he must grab it… Angry shouts, waving fists, a flying boot hits him in the ribs, he screams and flees for the safety of his Master's side.

"Never learn, d'ya, Jack?" A rough hand ruffles his fur. "Born thief, eh? Guess it's yer instinct." He surrenders his prize reluctantly to his Master in exchange for a biscuit. Muttered curses of the angry seamen still ring in his ears as he settles at his Master's feet.

_Squawking blue feather-bag._ He peers curiously at the blue macaw cracking nuts in its beak. He reaches out a grimy paw and grabs at the bird's tail feathers. The fowl screams its indignation. Sharp beak, flapping wings buffet him. He runs on all fours, tripping hapless crewmen all over the deck, until…

"What trouble has yer instincts gotten ye into now, Jack?" His Master soothes him with an ear scratch after he's been safely bundled away from the murderous bird. "If ye weren't immortal… Yer most like be dead by now, ya imp…"

The moonlight through the window falls on his paw, turning it to bare bone. He whimpers for a moment before his Master tosses him an apple, enough to distract him from that instinct that something preternatural had happened to him. He does not understand what, why or how. His instincts only carry him thus far.

**Author's Notes:**

Capuchin monkeys are born thieves and rascals, no? I read that the monkeys acting Jack the Monkey caused a far bit of trouble during the filming due to using Geoffrey Rush's shoulder as a toilet.


	21. Gamble

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

**Gamble**

They say life is a series of gambles, risks taken in hopes of some gain. Every mariner is a gambler at heart, more so a pirate. A pirate is not only at the fickle mercies of the wind and waves, but also hunted both on land and sea by they who call themselves honest men. Ten pirate captains of great infamy have heeded his call and gathered on the desolate graveyard of ships known as Shipwreck Cove.

True he owed his immortal life to her. He had served her faithfully for ten long, lonely years ferrying the souls of those lost at sea. Yet the faithless wretch had seen fit to cast him off. No more would he dance to Calypso's whims. No more will he be bound like a slave to her beck and call. Thus he proposed his plan to the pirate court.

He had learned the ancient spells at his grandmother's knee, a fey old woman everyone whispered was a sea-witch directly descended from bygone Viking seafarers. Of course no one had tried to bind a sea goddess before. No one dared attempt such a feat.

Finishing his piece, Davy Jones watched and waited as the motley crew of pirates muttered and shuffled where they stood or sat. It was Jan the Corsair who spoke first, thumping down his tankard.

"A fine proposal, brothers! No more will we be subject to the capricious moods of a woman, even if she be a pagan goddess," he bellowed to cheers from his crewmates.

"What if it fails and she turns against us? We cannot afford that," the ancient Grace O'Malley warily objected. Old age had dimmed her fire somewhat, a fire that was sparked during the reign of Good Queen Bess. Her eyes were almost unseeing as her gnarled fingers toyed with the silver cross about her wizened neck.

"True, respected grandmother, but it is a gamble we must take," the wiry Chinese captain Cheng ventured. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained… Think upon it." He spread his hands and paused to let his words sink in. The pirates feared and dreaded Calypso's displeasure as much as they sought her blessings. With a toss of her head she could conjure up a typhoon from the clearest skies or becalm a ship for weeks.

"No more ships lost to storms because you looked at her wrong," Don Pedro muttered darkly, recalling the loss of his young wife and twin sons. There was no doubt in his mind the squall which claimed them was Calypso's doing after he had chosen his family over a jealous goddess' affections.

"Aye, my brethren and I stand with Jan and Pedro," Hendrick the Lion roared. "Bind the witch, I say! And let us be free to roam the seas as we will!" The remaining pirate lords cheered aloud, drowning out O'Malley's lone voice of protest.

"We want no part of this," O'Malley staggered to her feet. Calypso had always played fair with her and her kin. With an imperious wave of her bony hand, the old pirate ordered her crew to ship. Davy Jones did not stop her. Nine pirate lords were more than enough for the rite.

The ritual items were readied. Pockets and purses were grudgingly emptied. A nervous laugh came from Nicky the Englishman as he surrendered his lucky playing card. Garcia the Spaniard cursed colourfully as he threw in his favourite snuffbox. Nine pieces of eight placed in the circle. Davy Jones recited the words of the ancient spell of binding...

* * *

><p>Off the island, Grace O'Malley pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders to keep from shivering as her men rowed steadily towards their waiting ship. All was quiet save the dip of the oars. All was dark save the far-off glow of the campfire ashore and the flickering lantern on the longboat's prow.<p>

The darkness and cold bit to the very marrow of her bones. Perhaps this night she would turn her face to the wall and breathe her last. God willing she would last till her keep at County Clare. Somehow the thought of dying at sea no longer appealed to her. It was a risky gamble she undertook making the long journey here with her age and ailing body but…

The wind howled suddenly and the rowers cowered on their benches. A woman's shrill scream raged over the white-capped waves. Then all was still and quiet once more. The waves broke over the sunken wrecks and the moon peeked fearfully from behind a cloud.

"What have we done?" the old woman whispered and crossed herself. _Please, merciful God, let us all die with our boots planted firmly on dry land. _

**Author's Notes:**

Much creative liberties have been taken with regards to the members of the First Brethren Court and historical pirates of the 16th and early 17th centuries.

I took my inspiration of the characters of the First Brethren Court from the era of the Sea Dogs and Corsairs (about 1590-1650).


	22. History

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

This is post series and a possible AU for the Norrington fans out there.

**History**

In the Bristol Seamen's Church, all was quiet. The vicar of the church glanced up from his afternoon pipe as the pair strolled in. The little girl skipped ahead. Her colouring was exotic as was the song she sang. West Indies, the vicar thought. The old man had the swarthy looks of a sailor but held himself like a gentleman. He leaned heavily on his walking stick and called for the child to wait. Their clothes were a season out of fashion but serviceable. Probably a retired naval man back from Jamaica with his half-caste whelp.

Little Annemarie paused and goggled in awe at a stained glass window in the church. "Jonah and the whale," her grandfather explained with a smile. "I recall there used to be one of The Lord calming the storm, where the Ascension now is."

"That will be more than twenty years back, when Lord Knightley-Smith's boys broke that window for a lark and their father had it replaced. You from these parts, Mister-" the vicar smiled.

"James Norris, but folks call me Jamie. From the West Indies but my father had me schooled at the Bristol naval academy," the old seaman replied as Annemarie continued her game. Her pigtails bounced as she skipped down the church aisle and marvelled at the pools of coloured sunlight on the flagstones.

"Naval then? Suppose you here to pay your respects to old shipmates? Many buried here in the old churchyard, even more lost at sea. Their names are on the wall… Oh, that one's the roll of the HMS _Providence_," the vicar puffed on his pipe as the old gentleman looked at a memorial with unfeigned interest.

_Theodore Harold Groves._ He started at a familiar name from his past. _Phillip Andrew Gillette._ Another name from another life. If he closed his eyes, he could picture them as the pair of young midshipmen who had thought it a lark to dab ink on the eyepiece of his spyglass. They were as full of tricks as a troop of monkeys before good old navy discipline cured them of that. Theo was the serious one, who wanted nothing more than to serve his king and country. Ever the filial son, he wrote to his father weekly without fail. Phillip was a bit of a jester, with an easy smile and the voice of an angel. Full of courage like a lion, even though Jamie often found his sword-skill wanting.

They died in their prime and in the same year too, naval marines to the last. Jamie recalled that old pirate Hector mentioning some skirmish the crew of the _Providence _had involving Spaniards, mermaids and zombie pirates but the old captain loved his tall tales. Old Sparrow simply mentioned some loyal fool of an Englishman who got shot by the Spaniards in a swamp. Jamie wondered if Theo or Phillip was that poor fool Jack spoke of.

A pain of dull guilt hit him as he chanced upon another ship's roll. _The Dauntless_ lost off Tripoli. Some nights the screams of the drowning men and roar of the waves came to him afresh. He would awake in bed drenched in sweat and pray for those lost souls that they might find peace. He knew he need not worry now the _Dutchman'_s under Captain Turner.

He plodded over to another well-worn section of the wall. _Lawrence Francis Norrington, Admiral._ He recalled being a little boy, standing in his father's stern shadow and the smell of ink and wig powder. He could not recall his father's face. Somehow, it was his Uncle Tom's grin and his booming laugh which had brightened his distant boyhood. Uncle Tom now rested in a simple grave alongside his negress wife, both taken by the yellow fever.

Norris paced back towards the newer memorials. Ah, the_ Endeavour_, a victim of the abortive Pirate Wars. The names of the fallen were once gilded but the gold-leaf had weathered with time. _Cutler Allen Beckett, Lord. Ian Joshua Mercer, _Jamie Norris felt they had no right to be listed among the honest navy men. He glanced through the names, recalling a few he had fought alongside with during his naval career. He paused when his eyes alit on a single name.

_James Laurent Norrington, Admiral._ He closed his eyes and traced the familiar letters. _Another name, another life._ James Norrington is dead. Gut-stabbed, he died on the decks of the _Flying Dutchman_.

It was Jamie Norris who came back from the Locker, fell in love with his rum-running partner Ana and had seven children with her. He did have an infatuation with a local innkeeper once but she was a married woman who gently rebuffed him. That was the end of it. Jamie Norris had a knack for sailing. He bought a humble sloop and transported timbers, spices and rum between the islands. Never dealt in slaves though, old Jack would never forgive him if he did. He lost Ana to the childbed fever after their youngest was born.

Little Samuel was a tiny little slip of a thing. He suffered throughout his short life from his weak lungs despite their best efforts. Jamie held his tiny son when Samuel's soul flew to heaven, fairly broke both his parents' hearts. Thank God the rest of his children were healthy and hale.

He next lost his Thomas in a brawl in the _Faithful Bride_. Thomas always had a bit of the pirate in him. At fifteen, he ran off to join the _Black Pearl's_ crew against his father's wishes. At eighteen, his shipmates buried him at sea, wrapped in sailcloth and weighted with cannon shot. Old Jack settled the score with the cowardly cur who shot Thomas in the back, not that it stopped a grieving Jamie from punching Jack in the face when he brought the sad news.

Of his beautiful daughters, the first to wed was sweet-natured Lucia. She fell for a Quaker preacher from New England. Reverend Cunningham was old enough to be her father but the good man won Jamie over eventually. Lucia was wed that same spring to her beloved according to Quaker rites. The last letter from Boston spoke of a grandson's birth after seven childless years.

Merry Helena's husband was a French Creole blacksmith she met when they put in at St Martinique for supplies. Pierre was a gentle giant for all his strength. Jamie knew he would take good care of his little girl. The last news out of St Martinique courtesy of Hector was that she had borne Pierre three lovely children with another on the way.

Quiet Gabriella married a ship's doctor stopping by at Fort Charles after a whirlwind romance. Jamie took a liking to young Donald Martins immediately and gave the match his blessings. The couple moved to Bristol when the surgeon resigned his naval job to inherit his uncle's practice. She gave her husband twin sons, both born at sea en route to England.

Sensible Lilian, his eldest, ended up with the Turner boy, after a long and secret courtship. Jamie never saw that one coming. Lizzie Turner did not mind having a mulatto daughter-in-law one bit. Will Turner III was now master of a fine ship and it was on his _Elizabeth_ that his father-in-law and niece sailed to England to visit Gabriella and her twin sons. Lilian would have loved to visit her sister but Lizzie insisted she remained in Jamaica given her current condition. Lizzie was looking forward to her first grandchild's birth.

The youngest Norris child took after her mother, all fire and passion. Her father never approved of the rough crowd she kept company with while he was at sea. Eloped with some scoundrel only to return a full year later when her family thought her dead. Maria caused her father no end of grief before she died birthing a fatherless Annemarie.

Jamie remembered his little granddaughter and glanced about behind him. Sweet Annemarie with her winsome smile was standing with the vicar and peering at the old carvings of ships gracing the columns of the church. "This church has a rich history, lass," the vicar declared with a touch of pride as he showed the young lady about the church.

_More so than you know, vicar,_ old Jamie Norris stared at the names on the memorials with a wistful smile.


	23. Well

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Two naval officers reflect on the rise and fall of their commodore.

**Well**

Theodore Groves stood ramrod straight, trying his best to ignore the sickening sounds as another lot of pirates were hanged. He tried to focus his gaze on the faces in the crowd beyond the gallows but the greenish-grey faces did little to ease the hollowness in his gut. Next to him, Gillette had his eyes scrunched shut. His friend looked as if he would faint. He discreetly elbowed Gillette in the ribs. The men did not need to see their officers as weaklings.

The younger boys always looked up to their senior, even though he was not that much older than them. Groves and Gillette both agreed Norrington was a straight-laced stick-in-the-mud when they first met but they soon came to admire the man. As the pair expected, Norrington's star shone bright. He soared through the ranks, achieving the rank of Commodore (the youngest captain to do so), while Gillette and Groves were content to remain his lieutenants. It was not just a solid tradition of naval service in his pedigree either. Norrington was a fine seaman in his own right and a leader of men; and the men respected him for it.

There had been a bride, the fairest maiden in all Port Royal, the governor's own daughter. Everyone was looking forward to the Commodore's wedding, the lieutenants included. All seemed to be well on the way to happily-ever-after. That was before that infernal pirate came to town. Lady Fortune liked _him_ better.

The bride chose a blacksmith boy over poor Norrington and the damned pirate eluded capture. The _Dauntless_ went down in a hurricane under his command during the pursuit, which was how the trio ended up clinging to the broken mast for dear life as waves crashed all round. Well, to be accurate, James was not exactly grabbing onto anything, but his two faithful lieutenants refused to let him drown on their watch.

The morning after the storm, they were rescued by a passing Scottish merchantman bound for Gibraltar, a sign that perhaps Lady Fortune has yet to abandon James Norrington. Still, it took a full week of recovering from their ordeal at sea before James would consent to feed himself instead of having someone feed him. "Shock," the doctor explained as Norrington sat dull-eyed and listless in his bed.

Groves took it as a good sign when the Commodore finally rose from his bed and asked for a razor, warm water and soap. It was the first time he had spoken since the rescue. Gillette stayed beside him as he shaved and washed.

"Didn't like the look in his eyes," Gillette explained. He had feared the commodore meant to do himself an injury.

"Don't be silly, the Commodore will be fine… He's healing well…" Grove had retorted. They had other more pressing matters to attend to, like preparing to sail back to Port Royal on the _Antelope_ that same evening.

The pair did not see their commodore on the ship out that night. Impeccably-dressed in uniform and wig, James Norrington had walked over to the naval office in Gibraltar and promptly resigned his commission.

No, ex-Commodore Norrington was not well at all. He had slipped far into the gutter. Groves next encountered him when he was hastening back to the fort after a dalliance with a very agreeable tavern wench. The man was swigging from a rum bottle and his garments were all rumpled. If it were not for that tattered uniform coat, Groves would have taken him for one of the many drunks so common on the docks at that late hour.

"Commodore?" Groves gasped. The staggering figure wavered towards the rougher parts of the docks, off-limits to honest men who valued their lives. Groves soon lost sight of Norrington in the shadows. Afterwards he wondered if it had been a trick cast by the dance of moonbeams, smoky oil lamps and the gloom.

Weeks slipped by, then months, other events occupied his attention, like the arrival of Lord Beckett with his warrant for Norrington's arrest. No, Norrington would never go pirate. His gentlemanly breeding would not allow that. He's probably back in England, starting a new life on land. Gillette pegged the Beckett as a pompous ass sent from London. He was right. Things got more complicated when Governor Swann left for London.

They had almost forgotten about their former commodore, until the day he came back to Port Royal all grimy and unkempt. The very next day, he was Admiral Norrington, courtesy of Lord Beckett's generosity. Commodore Welles, who had managed the fort's garrison in Norrington's absence, was rudely evicted from his office and put on the next ship for Boston. Something definitely had changed with Beckett lording it over Fort Charles and the admiral jumping at His Lordship's every beck and call.

Now he hovered at the shorter man's side, with the shifty-eyed clerk slinking nearby. Groves swallowed a lump in his throat as a half-grown boy of a pirate was marched up the gallows. Gillette was staring at his own shoes, unable to watch the lad hang.

Lord Beckett and his entourage passed close by where the officers stood to attention. The lord invited the admiral for dinner. Lady Prewitt-Joliffe and her niece would be attending. Fine Burgundy wine and roast beef on the menu. Norrington accepted the invitation without any particular emotion. There was an aura of defeated resignation about him even though his back was still as straight as when he was their commodore. The coveted admiral's uniform only made him look all the more forlorn. The party continued away from the assembled marines.

"The admiral looks… well…" Gillette whispered to Groves. The lie hung in the air between them.

"Yes, he does look… well…" Groves pursed his lips and reaffirmed the lie.

**Author's Notes: **

I could not resist doing a naval themed piece.


	24. A Bump in the Night

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Written for a challenge – Halloween Ghost Story 2013.

Was it a ghost?

**A Bump in the Night**

Wee Jack was feverish. That tooth was bad, rotten through and it had to go. Be thankful Jimmy Blackwell was a naval surgeon before he went pirate, his da had said. Well, it still hurt like the devil when the drunk yanked it out but at least it beat having Granny Grace punch it loose from his jaw. Also, he did get the right tooth this time. His dear granny had bundled him up in his hammock and fed him a thin broth since he was still in pain from the extraction.

Jack's da had come by during the first watch but now he was needed at the wheel. Mulligan and Gunnersen kept him company a bit until Granny Grace shooed them out so her wee laddie could sleep. She had stayed on in the galley to tend to him. Now she was asleep, snoring fit to wake the dead.

Sleep eluded poor Jack. Jack moaned feverishly. His jaw hurt too badly. The _Misty Lady_ was an old ship, battle-scarred and worn. Her timbers creaked. Wind whistled through her rigging and the waves could be heard running along her bow. She had a spirit, so his da said, a good guardian watching over them. _A knocker,_ Gunnersen whispered. A goblin which would help the crew at their work if treated right but Heaven help ye if he was crossed. Yet Uncle Tom claimed it was just poor old Joshua Cutter who was killed in battle when some chain shot sliced him in two.

"Crawls the decks looking for his missing bits," the first mate said sagely. "Say a prayer for the poor soul, laddie, should ye see him about. Pray that he may find peace."

The night was moonless and the sea calm. Those stories came back now to haunt wee Jack now.

A soft thump caught Jack's attention. He opened his eyes and peered into the shadows. A pale white mist, sprawling over the galley floor, it approached the frozen boy. Oozing, flowing, it formed into the likeness of a man, at least from the waist up. Jack gaped but he could not cry out. Joshua Cutter's ghost has come looking for his bottom half. He ducked under his blankets and squished his eyes close. Yet he could not wipe out the image of the half-man groping about the galley with his arms from his mind.

Pray for him, Jack did try but the words would not come to his mind. Time seemed to stand still for the frightened boy.

Another unpleasant thought occurred to him. _Whatever happened to Cutter's bottom half and legs?_ His overheated imagination conjured up a pair of legs loping through the darkened corridors of the ship. A loud thump almost made him leap out of his skin. The thumps continued, closer and closer. _Boots._ He recognized the sound now. He prayed that the ghost would leave him be. The boots paused right next to his hammock…

"Rise and shine, lazybones!" a voice bellowed and a well-placed kick tipped him out of his hammock. He yelped when he landed on the deck and rubbed his eyes. It was no ghost. The sun was high and Jack must have slept in after all.

It was Granny Grace. She was holding a bowl of gruel in her beefy hand and scowling like thunder. She thrust his breakfast at him.

"Eat up, Jackie lad. We've reached St Martinique and I've gotta help load the supplies…"

Jack yawned sleepily and nodded. In daylight there was no sign of any ghost. It was only a nightmare, Jack said to himself, but it was all too real. The next night he moved his hammock up on deck and slept under the stars.


	25. The White Lady

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

This is an bonus reply to the challenge – Halloween Ghost Story 2013.

A spin on the classic White Lady stories from a Singapore (at least PotC Singapore) and Chinese angle on it.

**The White Lady **

_At the very end of the oldest pier she waits where the lamps are dimmed, a pale white-clad figure softly singing her mournful song._ Sao Feng knew the old stories about the phantom. He had heard them from his elders when he was but a snot-nosed lad. He had crept close once as a foolish teen, to catch a glimpse of her face through the tangle of her unbound hair. Alas, she faded into the mist as he approached. That was many years ago and he now knew better.

* * *

><p>"Thrice, see her thrice and you're not long for this world…" his old uncle had whispered sagely as he told his tale. At this point the children would draw closer.<p>

"It happened many generations back, well before the white barbarians came, when the pirate Chen Zuyi ruled these waters with an iron fist. Ah, he was a wild one, even as a boy. He took what he would with little regard for gods or men, they say, women and wealth alike. They said he killed his own father and brothers to seize control of his fleet. Now, some years before, a ship had been wrecked upon the Dragon's Gate reef, the only survivors an old woman and her granddaughter."

"Ah, this woman and child were no ordinary folk. They hailed from a line of seers. They soon established themselves here in this very temple. They could read the weather in the clouds and a man's fate in his face. The old crone had passed on and the girl-child grew up into a fair maiden," the old man paused here to suck on his pipe. "That was when Chen took an interest in her."

"She had a sweetheart already, Chen's own nephew. This boy was an honest soul, a bit simple perhaps, content to fish and forgo the fruits of piracy. Every night she would wait at the pier for him to return from his nets. Chen called on the oracle here in this very temple and asked her to read his fate. She declared that no man would be able to bind him to account for his myriad crimes. Chen was glad to hear his invincibility pronounced. Next he tried to proposed marriage to her but she steadfastly refused, naming the one she had given her heart to and sought his blessing, a foolish move. Does one trust the tiger with the fatted calf?"

"What happened then, uncle?" Sao Feng would ask as he poured more tea for the old man.

"Chen lusted for the beautiful oracle and he was enraged by her refusal. Nephew or not, he sent his men to ambush the boy when he went out to his fishing. They caught him unguarded at the harbour entrance and boarded his boat. The men hacked him to pieces and threw those pieces into the sea save his head. Chen then came into the temple precincts and forced himself upon the hapless maid, leaving his nephew's head at the gate for all to see. Ah! It was an ill thing he did upon sacred ground…"

"What became of the pirate Chen Zuyi?" a little girl asked. "Did Heaven strike him down?" His uncle would nod.

"Chen's crimes of piracy and murder reached the ears of the Admiral Cheng Ho when the Imperial fleet came south. The dog-admiral bore a proposition from the Ming Emperor for the devil Chen – yield his fleet to the emperor's service and cease his villainy for a pardon. Chen said he would accept the Emperor's leash though he had no intent."

"What did he intend, uncle?" young Sao Feng asked as his uncle sucked on his pipe again.

"He wanted the wealth of the Imperial treasure fleet under the Emperor's dog-admiral. The ships bore the finest treasures as gifts for the rulers of far-off kingdoms. An ambush was planned but the admiral was forewarned."

"Who was the traitor?" Sao Feng asked. His uncle would only shrug at this point.

"Who knew? There were many who disliked Chen. Amidst the fighting, Chen was gravely wounded by Admiral Cheng and bound in chains to await the Emperor's justice. Heaven has a wry sense of humour. You see, the great Admiral Cheng Ho hailed from the humblest of roots. He was less than a man, having served in the inner palace as a eunuch slave-boy before his wit and loyalty won him his master's favour, rank and freedom. The gods must have set it just so. The feared pirate chief was shipped off to distant China for execution. That was the end of Chen Zuyi. Pah! See how I ramble like an old man!"

"Now back to the seeress and her sweetheart. She hung herself off the end of the pier from the shame and grief. The people buried her upriver in the jungle and prayed she would not walk. The boy could not walk for his earthly remains were scattered to the fish and waves. Simple souls have a special place in Heaven, they say. It was the seeress who walked. Some nights she can be heard singing at the end of the old pier, waiting for her beloved's return. They say Chen saw her thrice, the last being the night before the battle with the Ming forces. Each time he mocked her but her prophecy rang true. To see her is a sign of misfortune. To see her thrice and you will see her no more, for you are not long for his earth…"

Here his uncle paused to spit and make a gesture to avert evil. His listeners would shudder deliciously before returning to their games, all except young Sao Feng who had promised his mother to get the old man indoors before it rained.

"It would be easy to revile her as a demoness but she is only a lost soul stuck between worlds, unable to move on. Perhaps she never meant to be the harbinger of doom. All she wants was for her man to come home to her. She does not understand that his soul has long moved onwards on the cycle of life and reincarnation." Every day before sunset, his uncle would go to the haunted pier and chant the scriptures to urge the spectre to move on. He never stayed till dark.

* * *

><p>Sao Feng shuddered as he recalled the tale. He took a gulp of strong liquor to steady his nerves. The first time he had seen the phantom; he slipped on the deck of his father's ship and broke his arm. The second time, he nearly died when that imbecile Jack Sparrow burned down his hut with a few fireworks. Tom-Tom the fisherman saw her three nights running and spoke of it. On the fourth dawn, they found him lying stiff on the docks, a corpse. Nanny Lan saw her twice and was so fearful of a third encounter, she moved inland where she died of the jungle fever. There was the pirate youth whose drowned, fish-nibbled corpse was found tangled in the nets. His friends claimed he had spoken of seeing the lady the week before and jested he was going to ask her to be his wife if he saw her again.<p>

Last night Sao Feng saw her again. This time he saw her face. It was a haunting face like a fairy's, delicate and fine-boned. Her brows were arched like a butterfly's wing. Her lips were as red and luscious as ripe cherries. Her bare feet were graceful as she paced the rotten planks. It seemed she smiled at him before she melted into the mist.

_Not long for this earth? It could not be_, Sao Feng growled. Not if he possessed the Sea Goddess herself…

**Author's Notes: **

Many liberties have been taken with the historical figure of Admiral Cheng Ho and 14th century pirate Chen Zuyi

Historical fact – one of Admiral Cheng Ho's achievements was the capture of an infamous pirate operating in Palembang, Sumatra. The initial plan was to offer the pirate chief pardon but the pirate chief tried to ambush the admiral and his men. Fortunately for the admiral, an informant tipped them off to the ambush. Cheng Ho started as a eunuch in the palace before he was appointed admiral of the Ming treasure fleet.


	26. Cauldron

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Some humor with wee Jackie boy. Curiosity killed Jack's appetite.

**Cauldron**

One of the many mysteries surrounding the _Misty Lady_ was within the legendary cauldron of the Pirate Queen Grace O'Malley, or so Granny Grace called it. The black cauldron seemed too big to fit inside the ship's narrow galley but somehow it did. Occasionally, it sat over the coals, bubbling and simmering with rich aromas of meat, turnips and cabbages. Granny Grace the ship's cook ruled the galley with an iron fist. Good food was a rarity to the pirate ship galley and the _Misty Lady_ was no exception, except when Granny Grace rolled out the cauldron to make her stew on special occasions. Many of the pirates claimed there was a spell cast on the cauldron to make the stew so tasty.

Granny Grace was an awful cook, truth be told. Her plum puddings were used once for cannonballs against a Turkish galley, to devastating effect. Her steak had the consistency and flavour of boot leather. Her sea biscuits were rumoured to be weevil-proof as not even the pests would risk their mandibles on the rock hard bricks. The common practice was for the crew to steep their biscuits in hot water and leave overnight so that one could have a greyish mush for breakfast.

The recipe for her stew was a family secret, meant to be passed only to her daughters, including Jack's dear ma. Alas, her sons and daughters had black-spotted her off her ship, so she was stuck on the _Misty Lady_. She was not passing her recipe to a bunch of backstabbers in petticoats. Captain Teague was not family, at least to Granny Grace. And Jack, well, he's not a granddaughter alas.

Wee Jack was a curious little monkey. He peered and prodded at the fresh supplies they had taken on. _What was the secret ingredient in the stew which made it taste so good?_ His mind wondered as he sniffed at the pickled cabbages and kicked a stray turnip. Definitely not the cabbages, he decided. They tasted like sour rags when paired with the leathery steak. And not the turnips either. They tasted like dishwater and greased paper when served with their salted pork. He whistled and poked about, filching an apple from a barrel.

_Was it the meat then? _

The cogs in Jack's mind whirred like a well-oiled clock mechanism. Ah, it must be the meat. No one ever questioned what the meaty little nuggets in the stew were and Granny never told. It must be the meat. Jack sucked at the inside of his cheek as he tried to recall the flavour. It was a gamey, rich flavour. G_oat perhaps? Or salted pork?_ No, the pork would be salter. No chicken or fish either… _Could it be beef_? Cows in the Caribbean were a mighty rare sight. Teague did not hie his bowsprit northwards that often.

Jack strolled over to his da's cabin to consult the log book. He checked the dates carefully against the Granny Grace's calendar of Saints' days. Aha! The next special occasion was the feast of St Pat. Granny was a staunch Catholic and an Irishwoman, so she claimed. She would cook her special stew on that date. Jack feigned an interest in learning to keep records of the ship's supplies, to his da's amusement. Teague thought it might do a lot of good for his son to learn something about economies. Teague did have a rather conservative streak about education from his honest days as the son of a schoolteacher.

Jack counted the sacks of flour, water barrels and other assorted supplies in the hold. He paid special attention to the salted goat and pork. He counted the geese and the goats on board. He even logged the seabirds caught and the fish landed by the crew, even that turtle Uncle Tom wrestled from the waves into a dinghy. Every morning, he would check the meat supplies and the galley to make sure Granny didn't have something simmering in her cauldron.

The Feast Day came and went. The stew was delicious as usual but Jack was bewildered. _Where did the meat come from?_ The cabbage and turnips were taken from the ship's stores, as was the carrot she had added for a garnish. The next stew day was Easter dinner. This time Jack Sparrow decided to watch his Irish granny instead.

The night before Easter, Granny got all shifty. She took a dagger and an earthen pot and crept down into the ship's bilges. Jack wrinkled his nose at the stench from the damp ballast. The bilges housed the largest ship rats on board. Even the ship's cat did not venture here thanks to the damp and rats twice her size. Jack crouched in the shadows and watched, praying those foul critters would not attempt to bite his toes off.

Granny lit a lantern and crept about like a large cat. With surprising agility for one her size, she pounced on her prey. With a squeak of protest, the ship rat was done for, skewered by Granny's dagger. She skinned and gutted the rat with practised ease and dropped the carcass into the pot. She used the entrails to lure out another rat which she promptly dispatched before repeating the process, until the pot was full.

Whistling merrily, Granny Grace took the rats up to the galley. She took some of cabbage and turnips from the stores. The cauldron was set on the coals to boil. She sat on a chair and started cutting the turnips and rats into small pieces. Jack's mind reeled. _Could it be?_

His fears were confirmed when Granny threw in the rat-meat, cabbage and turnip into the cauldron. Humming a jaunty air, she added a dash of salt and a sprig of dried parsley to it. Granny's special family recipe was for _rat stew_! Poor Jack's stomach flip-flopped. He leaned out of a porthole and retched violently, catching Granny's attention.

When he finally drew his head back in, he found his grandmother glaring down at him. She reached down and tweaked his ear with a meaty hand.

"You just had to pry, didn't you?"

"Sorry, Granny…"

"Well, lad. I expect you to continue enjoying your stew. We are a little short on the meat. So, be a good laddie and make yerself useful. Head down to the bilges and fetch me more rats," Granny ordered and handed him her dagger and the pot.


	27. Squandered Ambitions

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

A double prompt – squander; ambition

**Squandered Ambitions**

_Your Uncle Tom could have gone far in the navy,_ his admiral father had said once. _But he threw it all away_. _See you don't go the same way, James. Don't squander your life as he did._ Norrington could almost hear his father's voice over his shoulder as he fastened the last button of his uniform.

He had not gone the same way as Uncle Tom, even though he came dangerously close to after he resigned his commission and took to drink for a time. Uncle Tom was a fine seaman. He did well as a privateer after his dishonourable discharge from the navy. His seafaring career came to an end when he lost a leg to a cannonball. James Norrington was sure his dearly departed father would have approved of his naval career and his very proper choice of bride in the form of the lovely Miss Swann. Uncle Tom had scandalised polite society by marrying his negress housekeeper.

_Sod them all! _Uncle Tom would probably bellow and laugh for good measure at their faces. _Why should a man be shackled to society's expectations?_ _Who cared what Lady Wentworth or the vicar thought or said? _Certainly not Uncle Tom. _Life is short, Jamie lad. A man's gotta seize the day. Take what he wants and give nothing back- so long as he can look himself in the eye when all's said and done wi'. Having some ambition is a fine thing but it is how you get there that counts. Listen here. _Here Uncle Tom would poke young James in the chest and wink. He could almost feel Uncle Tom's large fingers ruffling his hair and hear the man's bellowing laughter although Uncle Tom had long gone to his Maker.

He had wanted this, James reminded himself. He needed this. To be an admiral, like his father was, and serve his king and country. That was his ambition ever since he was a midshipman. _Hang the cost._ He had now the respect and prestige his new rank brought. Soon the eligible society ladies of Port Royal would look his way and the offers to dinner besiege his door. He could find himself a suitable bride from their ranks. Yet he only felt achingly hollow inside.

James missed the warmth of the Caribbean sun on his skin, the smell of salt air and tar as he hauled at the ropes of a ship as another crewman on board the _Pearl._ True, the pirates had been slow to warm to him but he earned their grudging respect for putting in his share of hard work and more. Perhaps Lizzie or Sparrow had helped smooth things over so that he did not end up throttled in his hammock. He had played at cards with a pirate gunner and his mate for a bottle of rum. He had cheated using a trick his Uncle Tom had taught him as a boy. The pair of fools did not suspect a thing. Later stricken by guilt, he had shared the bottle of rum with them. He did not realise how he had missed that comradeship, being one of the men, instead of standing above them as his rank as commodore dictated. Pirates had no concept of proper protocol. Sparrow would carouse with his men at night to Mister Gibb's fiddling as the rum bottles were passed. Perhaps that was what had drawn his Uncle Tom away from the navy in favour of buccaneering.

No sense regretting now. He had shut that door on that chapter of his life with his act of betrayal. James placed the powdered wig on his head and gazed at the mirror. Every inch of fabric was neatly pressed. Each strand of his wig neatly in place. The face was familiar and yet something had changed. _Would Uncle Tom have approved of his choice?_

Uncle Tom had been content with his wild youth, a buccaneering life, his little negress wife and generally ignoring society's expectations. Was that the mark of a wasted life as his father had claimed?

"Is the uniform fitting, sir?" Mercer's voice broke into his reverie. He did not hear the man enter the room. "His Lordship is waiting. You are to join him at the table." There was the hint of a sneer on the clerk's pockmarked face.

James kept his features bland as he nodded his assent. He caught a glimpse of his careworn face reflected in the looking glass. _Sure you ain't wasting your life choosing this path, Jamie lad?_ He could picture his Uncle Tom shaking his head. _Exchanging the freedom of the waves for them shackles of tawdry lace. _

**Author's Notes:**

A bit of angst from the admiral. I do believe the character of James' Uncle Tom the former buccaneer is catching on me.


	28. Silent

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Prompt- Silent. A short drabble on how Juan Ponce de Leon's ship ended up where it did.

**Silent **

It was a mad venture – The Fountain of Life, The Fountain of Youth. Poor Juan Ponce de Leon has finally gone loco, they must whisper back home. He sent them maps and letters detailing the legends gleaned from the local populace. He had laughed himself when the withered old shaman, last of his tribe, had spoken of mermaid's tears. The mermaids were terrifyingly real and had cost them dearly in their attempt to make landfall. At least he still had the chalices for the ritual, retrieved from a Toledoran church treasury where they had languished since their theft from a heathen temple.

That was before the sea and skies shook and the waters churned like a living beast. The waves plucked men from the deck and snapped their masts. Something must have caught him about the head for all went black then. When he awoke, all was silent. No one else had survived the disaster. He was an old man, gravely wounded and alone in a hostile land. No one in Spain would question why his ship failed to return. These explorations were fraught with danger and men were lost at sea.

Perhaps it would be for the best. Perhaps it was God's will. Let the fools back home laugh and wonder at the fantastical tale. He was done with it all. If anyone should ask him again of the truth, he will keep silent.


	29. Panic

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Prompt- Panic.

**Panic**

Tortuga was always the favoured port of call for all pirates, buccaneers and scallywags in the Caribbean. The captain of the _Misty Lady_ was no exception. However, unlike most of his fellows, he had a particularly unique concern as he navigated the ramshackle huts, dim alleyways and smoky taverns – his offspring.

"Jonathan Edward Teague, lay off that poor critter now!' Teague snapped at his son. Wee Jackie pouted and replaced the tarantula on the wall of _Crooks' Exchange Market_ instead of down the gaping maw of a drunken sailor. It was a pity his first mate, who normally accompanied him on business at _Crooks'_, had been called away by an ailing friend. Teague did have a nagging suspicion that Honest Tom's lady friend was not so much ailing as lonely for her man's company.

"Stay close, Jackie boy…" his father warned before returning his attention to negotiating a suitable price. On hindsight he should have left the youngster in the care of his crew on board ship but the crew were threatening mutiny after Jack's last scrape. Little boys should never be trusted near a stove or black powder. Teague shuddered as he recalled the billows of smoke and the dreaded flames. Granny Grace had suggested a flogging over the ship's gun, but wasn't that a little harsh for a six-year-old? Others suggested dumping Jack at some Spanish mission and letting the little devil torment the monks. Hopefully, with a refurnished galley and cooler tempers…

Captain Teague counted his coin and shook hands to seal the deal. Now it was time to see about a new stove and…

"Jackie?" Teague turned and glanced about him. There was no sign of the lad. His heart sank like a stone and panic seized him. He shouldered past a pair of staggering sailors. "JACK!" he bellowed and prayed his son would come sprinting at his voice. When there was no answering cry, he started running.

Nightmarish scenarios came unbidden to mind. Tortuga was not the best of places for a innocent child to get lost. What if Jackie had fallen off the pier and drowned? Or if he had wandered into one of the abandoned shacks and was hurt? There were scumbags out there would not think twice about taking advantage of or hurting a defenceless youngster.

"Jack!" Teague forced himself to take a deep breath, then another. He was no use to his son if he allowed the panic to take over…

Yes, he would go back to the _Misty Lady,_ organise his crew into a search party. Granny Grace would gladly volunteer to board every ship and storm every door in search of her grandson. Injun Mitch was a prize tracker and he could lead a party into the surrounding jungle in case Jack was no longer in the town…

"Da!" Jack's voice piped up, breaking his train of thought.

"Jackie boy?" Teague looked on as a tiny figure dashed up and wrapped his arms about his leg. "Where have ye been off to?" A grinning Honest Tom looked on as the captain hoisted his wayward offspring into his arms.

"Sorry I took off, da. I had to go really bad…" Jack hugged his father with an apologetic smile. "Then when I was done I can't find you…"

"Found the wee laddie wandering about Lulubelle's place and thot he'd be safer back on ship… Glad we ran into ye before someone gets their door kicked in," the first mate of the _Misty Lady_ shrugged. "Hope ye didn't panic too much…" the pirate gave a mischievous wink.

"_Moi?_ Panic? Never…" Teague retorted as they made their way back to the _Misty Lady_.

**Author's Notes:**

Everyone loves wee Jackie, even if he is a handful. I love writing Teague father-son fluffiness.


	30. Skulduggery

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Teague is concerned.

**Skulduggery**

Teague pondered the interest the obeah woman took in his offspring. At ten, Jackie was not remotely considered a man yet, although the captain was under no illusions that his offspring was naïve about what went on between a man and a woman behind closed doors. The doors in Tortuga were notoriously flimsy with gaping holes from bullets or cutlass swings. Surely Jackie was too young to inspire interest of that nature from Tia. Perhaps Tia Dalma simply felt sorry for the boy, devoid of a mother's affections. True, the little mite had no mother close to coddle him, but boys needed to grow up fast in these harsh times.

"What manner of skulduggery be ye up to?" the concerned father bristled as he watched Jackie crow with pleasure, toying with his latest gift from the fey woman. It was a battered-looking spyglass but a treasure none the less for a small boy. Before that it was a large conch shell and a hip-flask decorated with mother-of-pearl.

Wee Jackie had been wary of the strange woman at first when Teague first brought him to visit her three years back. He soon warmed up to her, especially after she nursed him through a near-deadly bout of jungle fever. Teague knew the only way of saving his son's life then was to entrust him to Tia Dalma's healing skills. Thus he was left in Tia's shack for two weeks until he recovered fully. Now Jackie often paddled off in his little canoe to visit her in the bayou when they dropped anchor nearby. Sometimes she would be waiting for them on the beach.

Something had to be done. He didn't begrudge Jackie the obeah woman's company but…

He had tumbled with Tia Dalma once before he met Jackie's mother. The affair, though brief, had left him reeling as a young man. Surely Tia Dalma was too old for his son although she barely showed her age. Tia was easy, no doubt about that. Teague knew of at least five shipmates who had been granted her favours. Even his old captain would sigh fondly whenever he spoke of his one-time mistress. Well, Jackie was far too young. Perhaps when he's slightly older…

"Penny fer dem thoughts, Capt'n?"

Teague cursed under his breath. He had not heard her approach upon the gravel bank. Like always, she was clad in rags and her feet were bare.

"Tia Dalma, what skulduggery be ye up to with me son?" he blurted out without thinking.

Her laugh was like a slivery twinkle of bells. "Wee Jackie? Don't ya fret, Eddie. I take care of de boy. He is much like his da."

He faced her with a dark scowl but the smile remained on her lips, sensual lips he had kissed and worshipped once. Her form was still as lithe and pleasing as it was many years ago when he first succumbed to her spell.

"We hav same goal, Eddie. Keep Jackie from harm. He much like ye. Mebbe more foolhardy den ye. Luv the sea. And the sea she luv him in return. Ye should know. Ye never stop luvving her."

Teague started at the unsettling sensation of the woman's dark eyes boring into his, dark and mysterious as the ocean's unfathomed depths.

"Jack Sparrow be a legend someday. Most famous pirate on the seas… Make ye proud, but mebbe bring ye grief too… but I promise ta watch out fer him and aid him…"

Before Teague could answer, she spun round on a bare heel and strode off into the jungle's surreal twilight. He was left wondering at her strange words. Try as he might, he could detect no hint of deception in them.

**Author's Notes: **

Just a little insight into Teague as a father and Tia Dalma just being her usual mysterious, teasing self.


	31. Cold Hand in Mine

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of the Pirates of the Caribbean.

This is a reply to a prompt on the Black Pearl forum.

**Cold Hand in Mine**

"Hang in there, laddie."

None of them had ever seen their captain so flustered ever. Men die all the time at sea, whether from blades or disease. The _Black Pearl_ was no stranger to death. The older hands whispered that the vessel herself had returned from the other side when Captain Sparrow came back from Davy Jones' Locker.

All had been well at the _Faithful Bride_. The same rough crew, the same old fisticuffs… until Anamaria's boy got himself stabbed in the back. The old salts remembered Ana before she got married and went honest. They say Old Jack was soft on Ana once, hence his willingness to take a little laddie like Tom under his wing. Tommy Norris took after his momma in his colouring, save for his eyes. Those green eyes came from his da.

Their captain had fought his way into middle of the ensuing melee, shot Tommy's assailant in the face without so much a by-your-leave and waded back out with the youngest member of their crew slung over his shoulder. The boy had been stabbed in the back, a coward's move.

Thomas Norris was well-liked by the crew. He had pirate blood in him through his momma and sailing in his veins from both parents. He had a strict sense of principles, although an unlikely trait in a pirate, which rendered him very popular as a friend. He never cheated at dice and could be relied on in any fight, which was probably why he felt compelled to step into the quarrel the Bosun had with Flinders over cards. Flinders was a notorious cheat and Bosun a fool for gaming with him. Never mind, old Flinders would cheat no more.

Old Sawbones took a look at the wound as soon as they had poor Tom settled on Jack's bed. Never mind about blood ruining his Turkish cushions and Indian silk covers. It was bad. The blade had gone in deep. The young man was coughing up blood and gasping for each breath. Perhaps the blade had nicked a lung. A course was set for Port Royal, the only place a decent surgeon could be had. They would all risk the noose for his sake, their captain declared. None dared challenge his decision.

Sundown found Jack Sparrow trying his best to comfort the patient. Poor Tom's cheeks were almost bloodless under his tan, but the flecks of blood which stained his lips were bright enough.

"Un-uncle Jack… W-will… A-am I dying?" An each word was a losing battle. The boy's eyes were lifeless as green glass instead of the living green of the ocean.

"Shush, laddie," Jack fought to keep his voice light. He was no stranger to death. It was a common enough companion for any pirate. But Tom was still so young and so alive…

"Tell- D-da… I'm s-sorry…"

Young Tom Norris ran away from home to join Sparrow's crew. Mister Norris was not known for his temper but they said his rage could be heard as far as London when he learnt his only son had joined a pirate crew. It was only the intervention of Mistress Turner that stopped him from coming after them with a party from Fort Charles. _They hang pirates, and the law will see Tommy as part of Jack's crew_, Lizzie had rightly pointed out. Tom had been expected to take over his father's sloop, running lumber and rum between the islands. That future lacked the adventure Tom desired. Amidst much grumbling, Mister Norris returned to his sloop and lumber runs.

"H-hurts…" More coughing and more blood.

"More rum?" Jack wiped the blood from the boy's lips and spooned some rum with poppy juice between them from a bowl Sawbones had left to ease the pain.

They were making good time despite the physician's grim predictions. Under full sail, they should reach Port Royal by sundown tomorrow.

He had watched the Norris children grow up. Mister Norris would tolerate his presence, as would Lizzie and many of Port Royal's townsfolk. Ana died when her brood was still very young and Jack always felt a duty to check on them given their father's periods of absence. Mister Norris sent him packing once thanks to a misunderstanding. Jack ruefully admitted that climbing in through the bedroom window of a twelve-year-old girl at night was not the best idea he had, even if it were to escape a patrol of marines. It had been little Tom who suggested his sister's window was a safe getaway route.

Jack liked the role of honorary uncle. He never gave much thought to settling down. True, Giselle and Scarlett expected him to wed them once, as did one fiery senorita. He never did marry and never did have any children, at least as far as he knew of. Tom was almost like a son to him. He liked the Norris girls, but they were far too young and oh-so proper for his tastes. Perhaps young Will Turner III might hook up with one of them.

"Stay with me, Tommy…" Jack dropped the bowl of spiked rum and gripped hold of Tom's hand. Tom was rasping as he fought for each breath. _Tom's a fighter. He would not go so easily. Was that sound a death rattle? No, it can't…_ The captain squeezed his shipmate's hand, chafing it. It was so cold, too cold…

"S-sorry, U-uncle… Jack… Can't…" A final gasp and Tom's dark head lolled. A flood of blood spilled out from his lips, down his chin. Tom Norris was gone.

Jack sat on the edge of the bed, tears streaming down his cheeks and still clutching Tom's hand. He fancied he heard another vessel come alongside the _Pearl_. A comforting hand on his shoulder, some murmured words of condolences. _Captain Will Turner perhaps?_ Then that sensation was gone. Jack Sparrow wiped away the tears which had blinded him and let Tom's limp hand fall back onto the bloodied sheets.

Turner would take good care of Tom Norris during the crossing. That Jack was sure of.

"Trim sails and drop anchor…" Jack commanded when he plodded onto the deck. The look upon his face was news enough for the crew even if they had not seen the _Flying Dutchman._ They would bury him at sea after which…

"After we've done committing Tommy to his eternal rest, I would like to continue to Port Royal," Jack announced.

"Why for, Capt'n?" his first mate queried.

"To be the bringer of sad tidings to his folk," the old pirate managed a weak smile. He took a swig of rum from his hip flask. A tinge of gold was painting the eastern sky. Dawn.

"Be warned, Captain. I hear Tom Norris' da has a mean right hook."

"Aye, I will be warned, though I probably deserve that too." Jack took a last swig from his flask before emptying the rest of the contents over the side.


	32. Halloween 2014 - The Whistle

Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Wow, it has been almost half a year since I last added to this fic. Hope the old quill is still sharp. This is my response to the Halloween Challenge 2014 over at the Black Pearl Forum.

**Halloween 2014 - The Whistle**

"Do you hear it?" a young voice piped up in the darkness of their quarters, rousing one of his companions.

"Hear what?"

"That whistling! I've heard it since we left…" There was a rustling of fabric as someone struggled to rise.

"It's just the wind. Now go to sleep …"

Young James grumbled and pulled the blankets over his head. As the oldest and most experienced of the midshipmen, he knew there would be hell to pay if they were caught prowling about decks without reason.

At dawn a mighty hue and cry was raised. Midshipman Eddie Alberts was gone. No clue was found to suggest the reason behind the lad's mysterious disappearance. His belongings were untouched. The other midshipmen were questioned. None had seen or heard anything during the night, save for young James, who recalled the queer conversation he last shared with the missing Eddie.

"Tell me, Norrington. Did you hear the whistling Alberts spoke of?" Captain Sewell asked sternly.

"No, sir."

"Good lad," the captain patted James on the shoulder and sent him off to the officer's mess for his meal. It seemed odd to Norrington that his captain seemed almost relieved.

A letter was carefully written to Eddie's parents in Bristol. It was an accident no doubt. For reasons unknown the boy gone on deck at night and fell overboard unnoticed. The crew thought otherwise.

"Twas the mermaids. They call to the pretty boys with their magic whistles… until the boys follow them, just like Master Alberts…" a gnarled sailor declared sagely as he took a break from scouring the deck.

"Nay, nay," the gunner added. "It's them drown'd ones getting lonesome and callin' for fresh company."

"Pah! Doesn't matter if it's drown'd sailor-men or mermaids. Hear it and ya never make port…" his mate added with an ominous grin.

"That's nothing but a sea tale," young James retorted. It was not uncommon for the older seamen to tease their younger shipmates. He had heard numerous tales of mermaids and sea serpents from his Uncle Tom back in the Indies. Now he believed himself too old for such fancies.

"There be stranger things twixt heaven and earth, my lad…" the old sailor shrugged and returned to scouring the deck.

* * *

><p>That was almost a lifetime ago. Admiral James Norrington yawned. He was so weary but his surroundings had little in the way of rest. The cabin was dank and reeked of rotting seaweed and fish. A layer of odorous slime covered the furnishings. Now he knew that walking skeletons and the <em>Flying Dutchman<em> did exist, as did a multitude of other wonders he once would have put down as the ramblings of a rum-addled sailor.

It came to James then, far too distinct to be the wind in the rigging.

"Do you hear it?" he turned and asked the marine nearest him.

"What, sir?" Mullroy queried.

"A whistling sound…" He was met with blank stares and a shaking of the head.

James heard it over the creaking and groaning of the timbers, a low, drawn-out note. It was an unearthly sound, seeming both near and distant in the same breath. At first he thought it was one of the fishy crew, or his men. He even heard it over the shrilling notes of Jones' pipe organ.

Eddie Alberts had heard the same whistling and James knew it now. For nigh a week the midshipman had heard it, since they left port. Eddie had been a nervous lad, sensitive and ill-suited to the rigours of naval life. He had been miserable despite the efforts of his mates. The eerie sound would have preyed on his mind quite easily.

James was a rational man, if there was anything remotely rational about the wreck of a ship he was on. He was no green lad to be frightened so easily._ It's only the wind_, the admiral insisted even as he went about seeking the mysterious whistler. Just as suddenly as it had started, the whistling would cease. Soon he learnt to set it away from his mind and ignore the whistling when it came. Life was odd enough without a phantom whistler to worry about.

Still in unguarded moments a sense of dread would befall him. It seemed to him that some of his men were far more jumpy than usual the longer they remained on the _Flying Dutchman._ It was understandable enough given their circumstances. _Did they hear it too? _He dared not question them.

"Admiral, I would suggest you find the man responsible for that infernal whistling and give him the lash!" Mercer grumbled.

_Oh, so you hear it too. _James kept his face bland as he replied. "Not one of ours, perhaps you should raise your complaint with Captain Jones."

The pockmarked clerk only stalked away promising bloody retribution upon the whistler under his breath.

On the tenth night they encountered a pirate junk…

**Author's Notes: **

This piece is inspired by the ghost stories of M.R. James and the question to myself if it is possible to introduce another layer of otherworldliness to the eerie and fantastical surrounds of the _Flying Dutchman_.


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